


Doctor Who and the Nowhere Men

by RowenaZahnrei



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Inspired by Music, Math Fiction, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-20 05:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 69,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4775963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowenaZahnrei/pseuds/RowenaZahnrei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doctor Who meets the Beatles! When the TARDIS is yanked off course, the Tenth Doctor and Rose Tyler discover terrible shadow creatures are stalking the Beatles across time. But why?  Where are they from? What do they want? The solution may force the Doctor to break the First Law of Time. Also starring the Fourth Doctor, Sarah Jane Smith, and Harry Sullivan!  COMPLETE STORY! :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or any of the characters therein. I don't own the Beatles either, or any of the songs or books or technical manuals referenced in this purely unauthorized work of fiction. Please don't sue me or steal my story. Thanks!
> 
> Author's Note: This story features the tenth and fourth incarnations of the Doctor, accompanied respectively by Rose Tyler, Sarah Jane Smith, and Surgeon-Lieutenant Harry Sullivan. It also features the use of a very peculiar and unique dialect created by John Lennon and seen only in his published writings. I've tried my best to be as faithful to his style as I could in using that dialect. I only hope it's understandable!
> 
> Author's Note II: The Beatles, as portrayed in this story, are inspired by the fictional representations of these historical figures seen in the movies A Hard Days Night, Help, The Magical Mystery Tour, and Yellow Submarine. They and any related characters are intended to be true to life only so far as that is represented in their movies.

DOCTOR WHO  
and  
The Nowhere Men

By  
Rowena Zahnrei

 

Liddypool Prime  
The Imperial Palace  
7 Marge, 5106

BOOM

BOOM

BOOM

The rhythmic pounding shook the heavy doors, making their antique hinges creak in protest. The King glared from across the cavernous throne room. Those rebels were persistent, he had to give them that. Imaginists, they called themselves. Heretics, more like it. They had already turned his ministers against him with their misguided words. Even his trusted guards had joined them in the end. This last, barricaded room was all that remained of his sacred government—an absolute divine-right dynasty that had kept its hold over the planet for over five hundred years.

BOOM

BOOM

CRRAACK!

Kakky Fingletoad, the King's youngest aide and the only member of his court to remain loyal in the aftermath of the initial assault, cried out as the door began to splinter.

"They're conning!"

The girl spoke in the distinctive dialect unique to Liddypool Prime and its three orbiting satellites, but was too panicked to maintain a proper courtly tone and posture. Her voice cracked, and she hugged herself tightly, unable to keep from trembling.

"They're pudding threw the drawer! By the light of their faithful dog Cragesmure, my king, they're pudding threw the drawer!"

"Hush, Kakky, my loyal," the King replied, staunchly facing the straining door. "I hold no fear of starch rubbles. Our dinnersty shall prevail!"

"You must recough, sir, the rubbles spake on behave of thousands," Kakky said, backing up until she stood beside the stained-glass window that spanned the entirety of the room's north wall from floor to ceiling. "The ancient books discowled by the Imaginists hove grate influenza among the populist! Our old whorled is dead!"

The king's eyes blazed at that, but before he could respond the doors burst open with a crash of rending wood. Kakky jumped and whimpered, shaking in unconcealed terror as the rebels flooded into the room in noisy triumph.

"We hove catapulted your place, oh King," their leader said breathlessly, his blue eyes glinting in his lean, hard face. "Yer royale dinnersty is now ended. Hereby, you may consort yershelf deposited."

"Deposited, my humble toe!" the King retorted, striding up to slap the taller man across the face. A startled gasp rippled through the crowd.

"Don't lock so astoundagast, Alec," the King said scornfully. "If 'all you are saying is give peace a chance,' delaware you are a hippycritter! All of you hippycritters all, guilty of violets and treeson—violets and treeson I shout!"

"Strand downs." Alec spoke flatly, menacing the King into taking a step back with the sheer intensity of his glare. "You heft no trowel here. Knot ankle longer."

The King raised his chin in defiance. "Oar watt? Yule kilt me, Alec? You Imaginists are all alight. Sprouting utopianism, yet flailing to lift up to your own nibble sediments. Deep drown, you aren't differential form me."

"Four five centaurs your family hat kept this kingdome tracked in fear," Alec said sadly, his followers murmuring their assent all around him. "You unt yer ancestories perverted the wisedome of the grate philosopher's philosophies, training the holly name of Jonlen-on into a motorcar."

"Hoe dare you spake starch balamory!"

"Truth," Alec retorted. "Unt truth is never balamory. Now shut yer blubbering and come. Prison is the piece fur you."

"Kakky!" the King shouted. "To my side!"

Pale and shivering, the young girl did as she was ordered, taking the King's hand as he pulled a large, black, slate-like device from within his cloak. Alec's eyes widened in horror at the sight of it.

"No!" he exclaimed. "That diverse is outlord throwup the entyre quadrangle! It's fur too dangerous to puddle with!"

But his warnings came too late. A glowing orb of bluish energy encased the King and Kakky. As the crowd watched, the orb flattened, then turned, shrinking and stretching as it slowly began to fade.

Scientist Nicely Clive gasped from the doorway.

"They hove galloffed threw the dimensional plate!" he cried. "They shall be racked to pieces—or wurst, become lost in the street of thyme, diminished into nowhere men!"

Alec stared for a long, thoughtful moment at the place where the two had been. Finally, he turned to face his companions, lowering his head and his eyes.

"Than thusly ends the rake of King Ann XV," he said regretfully. "Last of the royale lion. May he join the grate and holly Jonlen-on, just watching the wheels go round."

The gathered Imaginists nodded somberly, intoning a heartfelt "Amen."

To Be Continued, in English, some 3,145 years in the past…


	2. 3,145 Years Earlier

3,145 Years Earlier

Somewhere in the timestream…

"Are we really going to see the Beatles perform, Doctor?"

The Doctor looked up from the center console to blink at his two young traveling companions, Sarah Jane Smith and Surgeon-Lieutenant Harry Sullivan—both of whom had been watching him plot the coordinates from across the room.

"Well of course we are, Sarah," the Time Lord responded, sounding ever so slightly affronted. "I said I'd take you, didn't I?"

"Ah, but saying and doing are two different things," Harry pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest. "We've been tossed off course before. Sometimes I get the feeling this TARDIS of yours has a mind of its own."

"You'd do well to listen to that feeling, Harry," the Doctor said, a small, enigmatic smile twitching at the corners of his wide mouth as he turned his attention back to the colorful switches, buttons, and monitor screens that dotted the top of the white, hexagonal console. "It just might keep you out of trouble."

"Speaking of trouble," Sarah Jane spoke up, "is that light meant to flash like that?"

"What light? Where?"

"Just there." Sarah Jane pointed, sharing an amused look with Harry as the Doctor dashed around the console, the dangling fringes of his multicolored scarf sweeping the TARDIS floor as he moved. She couldn't help but wonder how he managed to avoid tripping over the gaudy thing.

"I say," he said, poking at the blinking button, and then at a few others. "That's odd."

"What is it, Doctor?" Harry asked, dropping his arms to his sides and moving a bit closer in his curiosity.

The Doctor flicked a few switches, then stepped back to scratch a thoughtful hand through his tousled mop of curly brown hair.

"Something has triggered the alarm on the time path indicator," he said distractedly. "But there doesn't seem to be any sign of a craft or—"

He cut himself off, scooting about ninety degrees to the left to check a softly bleeping monitor.

"No, wait…there," he said with a decisive nod. "Yes, there appears to be some sort of gravity disturbance just beyond the time vortex; possibly a rogue singularity. The gravity pull must have set off the alarm. Nothing to worry about. I'll just—"

Sarah Jane cried out as a sudden burst of sparks plumed from the undulating time rotor at the console's center. The Doctor and Harry had to jump back to avoid getting scorched. Alarmed, the Doctor batted at his scarf, making sure all the lingering sparks were extinguished.

"Now, that shouldn't have happened," he commented, sharing a glance with the breathless Harry and Sarah Jane before striding back up to the now smoking controls. "Whatever was causing that gravity disturbance must have passed through the vortex and come out the other side."

He frowned, rubbing his chin.

"Can't have been a singularity, then."

Turning around, he noticed the concerned, puzzled looks on his companions' faces. Realizing his speculation was only worrying them, he tried to lighten the tense atmosphere with a grin.

"Well, whatever it was it's gone now," he said. "And we're still on course. We should materialize in Liverpool with just enough time for a quick stopover at the nearby sweet shop before the show."

"Ah ha," Sarah Jane said. "Out of jelly babies again, are we, Doctor?"

"Very nearly," the Doctor admitted, his broad grin returning as the TARDIS juddered under their feet.

"And here we are!" he proclaimed, opening the doors and striding out into the brisk early evening air. "Liverpool, England, 21 March, 1961, precisely as promised."

Looking back at his excited companions, he said, "All right, let's be on our way. If memory serves, the Cavern should be just down the street and to the left. Of course, I don't have to remind you—"

"Oh, we know, Doctor," Sarah Jane interrupted with mock seriousness, taking his arm and sharing a grin with Harry as the two of them mimicked the Doctor's voice: "Don't wander off!"

To Be Continued...


	3. Chapter One

Rose Tyler stood in the TARDIS kitchen, polishing off a slap-dash breakfast of hot tea and cold toast, when an unexpected sound blasted through her bleary, early-morning fog. She blinked, a slow, disbelieving smile spreading across her face.

Someone, it seemed, was jiving to eighties rock.

Rose left her crumbs for the TARDIS to clear away and set off down the corridor, struggling to stifle a grin as she realized the thumping bass line was leading her to the primary control room.

She rounded the corner to spot the Doctor darting around the center console–glasses on and music blaring. He was singing absently to himself, aiming his sonic screwdriver at various clusters of wires and tubes she could see peeping through a number of open access panels.

"So you're an eighties fan now?" she called out teasingly. "What's that you're listenin' to, Modern English?"

Turning on his heel, the Doctor met her incredulous smirk with a broad grin of his own.

"'I Melt With You,'" he affirmed. "Rather fitting, actually, now I think about it."

"How d'you mean?" Rose asked, shooting him her cheekiest smile–the one where she caught the tip of her tongue between her teeth.

The Doctor's grin broadened.

"Well, just listen," he said.

The slender Time Lord tucked his glasses away in the pocket of his brown, pinstriped suit, then tapped a few buttons to rewind the song a bit.

"Wait for it…wait for it….ah, here it is!"

[…Dream of better lives, the kind which never hate

Dropped in a state of imaginary grace 

I made a pilgrimage to save this human race

Never comprehending the race had long gone by…]

Rose's eyes widened and she laughed as the Doctor took her hands, spinning her around and singing along with the chorus.

[I'll stop the world and melt with you

You've seen the difference and it's getting better all the time

There's nothing you and I won't do

I'll stop the world and melt with you.

The future's open wide…] (1)

"Well?" he waggled his eyebrows laughingly, allowing the song to go on without them. "What d'you think? Perfect fit or what?"

Rose smiled and opened her mouth to make a wry retort, but before she could speak his eyes widened and he gave a little jump.

"Oh–wait, I just thought of something!" he said, dashing back to the controls. "Give me one moment–you'll love this!"

Rose shook her head, marveling at his infectious energy. She couldn't help but wonder…

"What's got you in such a good mood this morning?"

The Doctor shrugged, his back turned to her as he tinkered with the cluttered, copper-colored console.

"Oh, nothing. Everything. Life, I suppose. Not to mention I just figured out an ingenious new method for reconfiguring the quantum velocity centriscope. This new modification is going to make the TARDIS's dematerialization circuit six times more efficient" (2).

"And that's good," Rose said, more amused than annoyed by his incomprehensible technobabble.

"Brilliant," the Doctor confirmed, flipping a switch to start up the new song. "Now, listen to this!"

Rose complied, tilting her head as the Doctor hopped back down to join her.

"Oh, I know this song!" she exclaimed. "It's one of them one-hit wonders from the seventies…what's it called…'Love Grows' or something?"

"Quite right," the Doctor nodded impatiently, "but listen!"

[She ain't got no money

Her clothes are kinda funny

Her hair is kinda wild and free…]

Rose scrubbed her hand through her unbrushed hair and shot the Doctor a look.

"Are you tryin' to tell me somethin' here?"

The Doctor looked like he was about to burst, waving his hands wildly to shush her only to realize it was already too late.

"Ack no, Rose, you missed it!" he exclaimed. "But it's coming round again. Listen!"

[She talks kinda lazy

And people say she's crazy

And her life's a mystery

Oh, but love grows where my Rose Tyler goes

And nobody knows like me.]

Rose gasped and her hands flew to her mouth, causing the Doctor's already manic expression to take on a glow that looked positively radioactive in the room's green-tinted light.

"Not bad, eh?" he beamed. "Eh?"

This time Rose did the shushing, latching onto his arm with a giggly grin.

"Hush, Doctor, I'm listening!"

[There's something about her hand holding mine

It's a feeling that's fine And I just gotta say (hey!)

She's really got a magical spell

And it's working so well

That I can't get away…

I'm a lucky fella

And I just got to tell her

That I love her endlessly

Because love grows where my Rose Tyler goes

And nobody knows like me…] (3)

Rose laughed in delight, giving the Doctor's hand a tight squeeze before letting go.

"How'd you do that–put my name in there?" she asked. "I'm sure that's not really the words."

"No, it's supposed to be Rosemary. Same number of syllables, though. I think it fits quite nicely, don't you?"

Now it was Rose's turn to beam.

"I love it," she said, bouncing up and down a bit on the balls of her feet. "Oh, I love this!"

Reaching out to grab his arm again, she pulled him after her away from the console.

"C'mon, Doctor," she grinned. "Dance with me. Let's see if this new new you's still got the moves."

"Well…"

The Doctor pretended to hesitate, scratching at his ear before breaking out with truly impish smile.

"If you insist. I'll just start the song again, shall I?"

"Turn it up as well!" Rose called after him as he darted back to the controls.

"A switch here, a button there," he murmured, "and voila!"

He spun around with a grin, the music starting up behind him.

"Now, Rose Tyler, we'll see who's got the moves. Perhaps I failed to mention I was once awarded top prize at Silmar III's annual dance-off? As a walk-on contestant, nonetheless!"

He laughed at the memory.

"Fantastic planet, Silmar III. Every day's a party!"

"That's as may be," Rose retorted playfully, sauntering up to take his hands. "But I'll bet a box of chips your 'dance-off' couldn't hold a candle to some of the clubs I've been in."

"Oh-hoo," the Doctor crowed, "Is that a challenge I hear?"

Rose took a step closer, her tongue pressed against her teeth in a teasing smile.

"If that's what it sounds like…"

"Now you're askin' for it," the Doctor said. "You are asking for it. You want dancing, Rose Tyler? I'll show you dancing. Come on!"

"Where are we going?" Rose asked eagerly, allowing the Doctor to pull her up to his side as he once again set about manipulating the TARDIS controls.

"Silmar III!" he exclaimed. "I could do with another win."

"Don't you mean we?" Rose teased.

"Nope!" The Doctor grinned. "It'll be you against me against the whole Silmar populace. Whichever of us comes in second buys the chips."

"Right." Rose nodded approvingly. "I'll take 'em with extra salt, thanks."

The Doctor laughed.

"What's that human saying about counting chickens?" he warned, reaching far over the console to snatch up his sonic screwdriver. "Have to make one last calibration…"

A shuddering rumble rolled through the TARDIS. Rose gasped. The Doctor's playful expression vanished, replaced by something far more serious.

"That shouldn't have happened," he commented, silencing the music with a flick of his finger.

"Doctor?" Rose frowned, leaning in close to the console. "What's that flashy light? Just there." She pointed.

"Huh?"

The Doctor strode to her side, all business.

"That's weird. Something's triggered the alarm on the time path indicator."

"And that means…?" Rose prompted.

The Doctor furrowed his brow.

"Not sure. Technically, that alarm should only go off in the event another craft somehow manages to force a way into our vortex wormhole. However…"

Slipping on his glasses, he tapped a few keys and watched as a flood of alien symbols scrolled up the monitor screen.

"…the scanners aren't picking up anything out of the ordinary. So, what was that?"

"That's what I should be askin' you," Rose started, but even as she spoke the glowing time column at the console's center began emitting a disturbing groaning sound, flashing and throbbing in distress.

"Oh no..."

The Doctor shook his head, his sonic screwdriver active even before he reached the cluster of circuits he was after.

"No, no, no, no, no. No, no, no, no, no, no!"

"Doctor, what is it?"

"It's the light speed overdrive!"

The Doctor grunted, his attention completely focused on his work.

"Part of the wormhole generator. It's gone into…well…overdrive. Whatever's in our path must pack quite a temporal punch. The pranantic waveform has been knocked completely out of proper antifratation. I just need a minute to realign–" (4).

Rose jumped in alarm as the Doctor's frenetic explanation was cut off by the oddly incongruous sound of a bell tolling. The rich, stately tones sounded like they were coming from very far away, yet they filled the cavernous room with their reverberations.

"What is that!" Rose exclaimed. "Doctor–"

She turned to look at him, and whatever questions she had died in her throat. The Doctor seemed to have frozen. His normally animated face was slack and deathly pale.

"Doctor?"

Her worried voice snapped him out of whatever thoughts were haunting his mind, and he sprang at once into action.

"Grab on to something Rose!" he ordered, his brown eyes wide and sharp. "Don't let go."

"Doctor, what–"

"Brace yourself!"

Rose grasped the console and squeezed her eyes shut, remembering to unlock her knees just in time to absorb the impact of a fierce, lurching jolt…

To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> (1) Modern English, After the Snow, "I Melt With You," 1982. Some slight liberty may have been taken with the lyrics, which I found online.
> 
> (2) Reference from the comedy series Dead Ringers, in which "the Doctor" calls the QVC shopping network in the mistaken belief that the letters QVC stand for Quantum Velocity Centriscope. (they really stand for Quality, Value, and Convenience)
> 
> (3) Edison Lighthouse, "Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Goes)," 1970.
> 
> (4) "Technical" terms, like pranantic waveform, referenced from The TARDIS Technical Index.


	4. Chapter Two

The TARDIS careened out of control, spinning and reeling as, inside, the Doctor fought desperately to reestablish their tunnel through the void. Rose clutched the edge of the center console for dear life, a rapid series of horrid, bone-jarring lurches leaving her stomach hovering somewhere below her knees. A powerful wave of nausea washed over her and she groaned.

"Ooerr... Doctor, I don't know if I can take much more of this!"

"Nearly got it now," the Doctor replied distractedly, practically shouting to be heard over the frantic thrumming from his ship. His eyes were intent and focused behind his glasses as he skillfully manipulated the complicated controls, his lips moving constantly as he worked.

Rose frowned. His lips were moving, but they didn't seem to be forming words. At least, not English words, she was sure. She tried to move a step closer to hear what he was saying, but the shuddering of the ship knocked her back.

"Don't move, Rose," the Doctor called out, his voice strained with effort. "Stay as still as you can. I'm going to get us out of this freefall, but I need to concentrate!"

"Then concentrate!"

The Doctor glanced over at her with a tense little smile. Then he looked away, his expression smoothing as he turned his eyes to the strobing time column throbbing between them. His hands stilled, his fingers resting lightly on the console. And then his lips began moving again.

Rose wanted more than anything to ask what he was doing. Yet, even as she bit the question back, she realized she already knew the answer. The Doctor was talking to the TARDIS.

She knew the TARDIS was telepathic; she had seen the Doctor communicate with his ship on dozens of occasions, most often when he was making repairs. She had communicated with the ship once herself, when she had gazed into the Heart of the TARDIS in a desperate gamble to save the Doctor's life (1).

But this was different somehow. The link between them seemed deeper, more intense, the TARDIS and her Time Lord working symbiotically as though, for that moment, they were two parts of the same being (2).

Rose stared, a strange twinge of unexpected intimidation twisting in her gut. She had never seen the Doctor like this before, even before his regeneration, and it unsettled her to realize how much of himself he kept hidden, cloaked behind his eccentric human guise. As she squinted, struggling to focus through the flashing, throbbing light, it was no longer her familiar Doctor she saw standing there. He was something…something else…something infinitely more than his boyish exterior suggested. She could see it in the unearthly intensity of his eyes, in his manner and his movements, and for the first time she comprehended how truly different he was; how ancient. Her nameless Doctor was a strange and powerful entity, completely unknowable and unknown. For all she could understand, he might truly have the powers of a god…

Rose gasped and tore her eyes away, the unnerving realization of the Time Lord's indisputable "otherness" making her feel oddly unbalanced. To Rose Tyler, the being across from her had never seemed so alien, so much a stranger, and that thought frightened her even more than the TARDIS shaking up all around her.

The Doctor winced and stepped back, breaking the connection as another sickening lurch startled Rose into emitting an involuntary shriek. The Doctor turned to her–and she was stunned to see the very human sweat glinting on his brow.

A wondering thought swept through the fear clouding her head. Powerful but not infallible…her alien Doctor was frightened too.

It was weird but, somehow, knowing that made her feel a little better.

Misinterpreting her expression, the Doctor met her eyes with a look of such compassionate concern that Rose nearly choked on the stab of guilt that rose in response. Her sudden shudder prompted him to give her white-knuckled hand a quick, reassuring squeeze as she adjusted her grip on the shaking console.

"It'll be all right, Rose," he promised. "Just hold on tight! It's gonna be a rough landing!"

Rose nodded, smothering the memory of her childish fear until there was nothing left. Partly in defiance of that moment, but mostly because it reflected how she truly felt, Rose gave him a broad, trusting grin.

She was rewarded when his tense shoulders straightened ever so slightly in response, his hands just a bit surer and his expression just a bit more confident as he once again began manually steering his TARDIS. Her heart filled at the sight, at the knowledge that one smile from her could have such an effect on him. But even though Rose had complete faith in his ability to get them out of this intact, she couldn't help a small yelp as–with a terrible, grinding thud–the sickening feeling of freefall ended in a mighty jolt.

The impact ripped her fingers loose from the console and sent her crashing to the floor's metal grating. For a nearly endless moment, the alien ship seemed on the verge of toppling over onto its side. Rose gritted her teeth, raising a protective arm to prepare for the worst–

"There!" The Doctor released a relieved–though undeniably shaky–sigh and broke out a tired grin, turning his flushed, over-bright gaze to her. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Rose shot him a pointed glare as he scooted around the console to offer her a hand getting up.

"What was that?" she asked, accepting his hand and brushing some imaginary dust from her rumpled clothes. "What did you do?"

The Doctor shrugged, looking just a shade too pleased with himself.

"I strengthened my link with the TARDIS," he said. "Stabilized the wormhole, got us back on track. Don't think I could have managed a connection that deep before the regeneration. My telepathic ability seems to be more advanced in this form" (3).

Rose blinked, taking a moment to absorb and process that information before breaking out with a slow smile.

"At last!" she said with satisfaction. "Spock!"

"Hm?" the Doctor inquired, unconsciously raising an eyebrow above his glasses.

Rose giggled.

"You mind-melded with the TARDIS! That was so Spock."

The Doctor looked slightly confused for a moment, then understanding lit his features.

"Yeah, I suppose I did," he smiled back. "Good thing too, or we could have ended up trapped in some fractional dimension–also known as nowhere. And believe me, nowhere is not a fun place to spend eternity."

Rose winced a little, but conceded the point.

"You still haven't told me what happened jus' then," she said. "What made the TARDIS go all...you know. An' what was that bell?"

"Ah, the bell," the Doctor said, glancing rather anxiously around the control room to check for any overt signs of damage. "That was the Cloister Bell. It only sounds in times of extreme peril. I should show you the Cloister Room sometime, Rose. Most important power room on the ship, the Cloister Room. Not nearly so impressive now as it once was, I'm afraid..."

Rose tilted her head, slightly concerned. The Doctor was using that distant tone, the one he used when he was thinking about his people. She knew she shouldn't press him further, but she had to ask, "Why's that?"

The Doctor looked at her, only to turn his gaze to the ceiling and then to the floor.

"It was where the Eye of Harmony was housed," he said quietly. "It was the TARDIS's main power source, and a lot more too. But it was linked to the Eye of Harmony on my home planet, and my home planet no longer exists. The TARDIS operates off scavenged energy now..."

"Like that energy we absorbed from the rift back in Cardiff?" Rose asked (4).

The Doctor just nodded.

"Anyway," he said, his dulled eyes brightening as he shifted the topic, "about what happened."

He cleared his throat, flashing her an awkward 'don't hit me' smile.

"I'm still working on that one, actually."

Rose squinted at him.

"What d'you mean, 'you're still workin' on that one'?"

"I mean I don't quite have an answer," the Doctor admitted, ruffling an uncomfortable hand through the unruly hair at the back of his head. "Not yet, anyway," he was quick to add. "Only guesses."

He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as he stroked the console with gentle fingers.

"Old girl really gave me a scare this time."

"No joke," Rose commented, fighting back an involuntary shudder at the memory of the horrible sensation of freefall. She cleared her throat.

"So, guesses…" she prompted brightly.

"Ah, yes." The Doctor winced. "Well, best guess scenario–and this is only a guess, mind you–best guess would be that, somehow, the TARDIS was actually physically yanked out of the vortex, causing the wormhole she was generating to implode."

He made a crumpling gesture with his fist to illustrate. Rose swallowed.

"But, how could that have happened?" she asked.

The Doctor shrugged, his angular face drawn and thoughtful.

"Not sure," he admitted. "This is a new one, for both me and the TARDIS. I suppose it could have been caused by a gravity emission. But, to have pulled us so far off course the wave would have had to be truly incredible–we're talking completely off the charts. I mean, a wave of that magnitude could only have been emitted by a massive singularity passing at near right angles to our dimensional plane, and that's, like…"

Rose raised an eyebrow. "Impossible?" she teased.

"Well…" The Doctor looked at her for a moment, then gave a slight smile. "Not exactly impossible. But it's very unlikely. Too unlikely to be a practical solution. We'll just have to keep our minds open until we figure out something better."

Striding over to the console's main monitor, he continued, "Lucky enough, despite the pranantic waveform getting all jumbled for those few minutes I think I managed to land us safely back in England. Possibly even in London. In any case, we're definitely in the UK."

He was trying to keep his voice light, but Rose could see the concern in his eyes as he looked up at the glowing time column, which finally seemed to have settled back to its normal hum. She watched him in silence while he flipped switches and twisted knobs, her expression wary.

"Yep," he nodded after a moment. "The UK, Europe, Earth, the solar system, the Milky Way, the universe, no question. I'm pretty sure. When, though, is a bit more of a mystery."

"So, we're in England," she tried to confirm. "My England, not some parallel world somewhere."

The Doctor glanced at her. "Should be." With a slap of his hands on the console, he pushed off and strode to her side.

"Like I said before, the TARDIS draws her power from our universe. If we were on some parallel world all her systems would be off-line and they're not. So that means we're definitely in our home dimension. It's only the time and place that's in question."

The Time Lord looked into her eyes then, pulling off his glasses and flashing her one of his most impish grins.

"So," he challenged, "You up to some exploring?"

Rose grinned back, matching his gaze twinkle for mischievous twinkle.

"Only always," she said, crossing the room to toss him his long, brown overcoat before shrugging into a jacket of her own. She gestured to the doors. "After you, then?"

The Doctor's impish grin broadened, and he opened the door with a flourish.

"Oh no, I insist," he said. "After you."

To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References
> 
> (1) As seen in the First Series finale, Bad Wolf/The Parting of the Ways.
> 
> (2) Time Lords do share a symbiotic relationship with their TARDISes. According to The TARDIS Technical Index, in order to become a Time Lord, a Gallifreyan must have his/her biodata modified to include "symbiotic nuclei." This is done to all Gallifreyans who attend the Time Academy, thus making them Junior Time Lords. The genetic modification allows them to think in four dimensions and gives them enhanced temporal perception, resistance to chrono-instability, and an instinctive knowledge of the Laws of Time. To become a full Time Lord, he/she must be picked out by a TARDIS, which then uses its "Symbiotic Relationship Circuits" to form a symbiotic link with its chosen Time Lord's symbiotic nuclei. This special link is called the "Rassilon Imprimature" and it gives the Time Lord access to "The Power of Creation," which is the greatest of all Time Lord abilities.
> 
> (3) In episodes such as The Girl in the Fireplace, the 10th Doctor makes free use of his telepathic abilities to link with others--something the 9th Doctor only attempted when saving Rose after she'd absorbed the vortex energy from the Heart of the TARDIS.
> 
> (4) As seen in the First Series episode, Boom Town.


	5. Chapter Three

The first thing Rose noticed was the screaming.

The next thing was the Doctor's strong fingers gripping her arm, pulling her around the side of the TARDIS's police box exterior and up against a dingy brick wall.

Rose opened her mouth, fully intending to protest against such rough treatment, only to gasp when, barely an instant later, a small horde of hysterical teenagers stampeded directly over the spot where she'd been standing. If the Doctor hadn't pulled her away just then, she would certainly have been trampled.

Somewhat shaken, Rose took a moment to absorb her new surroundings. The TARDIS had materialized in a small alcove adjacent to a narrow alley. From what little she could see from her position, the far side of the alley seemed deserted, save for a line of old-fashioned looking cars. Their side, however, was absolutely jam-packed with young people, all sardined behind some kind of cordon and all of them screaming like mad. Rose cringed at the overpowering noise.

"Doctor, what is goin' on here," she shouted.

"I think… Hang on, I'll just have a look," the Doctor responded. Rising up on his tiptoes, he shaded his eyes to peer over the crowd. As Rose watched, his eyes widened and a delighted grin lit his face.

"Rose," he shouted, "Look there!"

Rose tried to follow his pointing finger, but there were far too many bobbing heads and waving arms blocking her view.

"I can't see a thing," she said, and scowled. "Any way we could get to the front?"

"Of course!"

The Doctor took her hand securely in his.

"Stay close now," he warned as he began pushing his way through the crowd. "Wouldn't want to lose you in this throng."

Rose rolled her eyes, ducking a stray elbow and hopping over a precariously placed foot. "'S not like I'm a child..."

"Never said you were," the Doctor called back. "But this is no ordinary crowd."

"You're tellin' me!" Rose retorted, glaring at a young boy who'd just hollered in her ear. "This lot's pushier than the crowds at the World Cup!"

The Doctor smiled over his shoulder.

"Come on, quick! They're starting another take!"

"Take?"

Rose twisted acrobatically to avoid having her leg mangled by a trio of particularly enthusiastic young girls before finally stumbling out into the open at the Doctor's side.

"Is all this for some movie, then?" she asked breathlessly, running a hand through her disheveled hair.

The Doctor stared at her.

"Some movie? Rose, haven't you realized where we are?"

"How can I? I'm not as tall as you, remember–all I saw back there was a bunch of heads!"

"Then look now!" The Doctor grinned, looking every inch as excited as the kids jumping and screaming all around him. "'Cause here they come!"

Rose squinted up the alley. In the distance, past the line of parked cars, she saw three young men in neat suits pelting in her direction. Another horde of screaming teenagers ran in hot pursuit, trailing only a few feet behind. Rose furrowed her brow, wondering why this scene looked so very familiar, when one of the screaming kids jarred her from behind, sending her stumbling into the cordon. She pinwheeled her arms, staggering to save herself from falling, but her foot dislodged a chip of concrete from the crumbling curb. The chip careened between two parked cars straight into the path of the runners.

"Oi… Look out!" she cried, but it was too late. The young man in the lead had been glancing over his shoulder and never saw what tripped him. He toppled like a tree onto the sidewalk. The young man behind him quickly followed suit, unable to slow his momentum as he tumbled over his friend and onto the concrete ground.

Rose winced at the ungainly sight. "Ouch…"

The Doctor stared at Rose in something like amazement as the two fallen runners picked themselves up and carried on with the chase. A few moments later, a distant, amplified voice yelled "And cut!" The runners came to a stop, but despite their laughing smiles it was clear now that the young man who had tripped over the chip of concrete was in pain.

Without hesitation, the Doctor hopped the barrier and strode across the alley, a concerned and guilty Rose close at his heels.

"Oi, mate, you can't be here," a thickset bobby in a classic police helmet called, hurrying up to block their path. "I have to ask you to move back behind the cordon with the others."

"No, it's all right." The Doctor whipped out one of his best 'trust me' smiles and held up his slightly spychic paper for the bobby to read. "I'm a doctor. George had a nasty fall back there. Just wanted to check him over, make sure there's no damage done."

The bobby frowned behind his bushy mustache, but stepped aside to let them pass.

The three young men looked up at their approach.

"And who's this then?" one of them asked–the only one of the three who hadn't fallen down.

Rose stared at him, her disorientation growing. She knew that face, she was certain of it. But no… No, it couldn't be…

"John Lennon, I presume!" The Doctor beamed, holding out an enthusiastic hand for the young Beatle to shake. "I'm the Doctor and this–" he gestured to his openly gaping companion, "–is Rose Tyler. It's an honor–truly an honor–to meet you."

John nodded, his expression somewhat wry.

"The Doctor, eh?" he said. "And who's this 'Doctor' when he's at home?"

"Still the Doctor," the Doctor said simply. The man who Rose now saw was George Harrison looked up from his stinging hands to furrow his brow.

"So, what, it's just the title, then?" he asked. "No surname?"

"That's right." The Doctor grinned. "Good to meet you. Mind if I take a look at those hands?"

George shrugged and held them out. "Go ahead."

"Aw, that's not so bad," the Doctor assured him, noting that the scrapes on his palms had already stopped bleeding. "Just give 'em a good wash and apply some disinfectant and you'll be good as new. How's everything else, then? Knees, ankles…? Nothing twisted? Nothing sprained?"

"Well, me knee's a bit sore," George admitted. "But I'm fine, really."

"And how about you?" The Doctor turned to Ringo. The shorter man smiled with a shrug.

"Oh, I'm all right," he said. "George here broke my fall."

George smirked, like he was about to make a retort. Rose, however, chose that moment to come out of her gobsmacked stupor, blurting, "You're the Beatles!"

John, George, Ringo and the Doctor all blinked at her.

"Good job, well done," John said. "Give the girl a biscuit."

But Rose was still in a daze. "No, I mean…you really are the Beatles! I'm actually standing here talkin' to the Beatles! Oh my God…they're never gonna believe this back home… Queen Victoria, yeah, Charles Dickens, sure, but this!"

She looked around in wonder, as if truly seeing her surroundings for the first time.

"Where's Paul?" she asked eagerly. "Oh, I used to have such a crush on 'im!"

The three Beatles shared a bemused look. The Doctor shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose to hide his smirk.

"I reckon he's still in the station, doin' his scenes," George said with a gesture to the brick wall behind him. "We should be headin' in there soon as well–if we're finished here, that is?"

That last question was directed to a spot just beyond the Doctor's shoulder. The Doctor and Rose turned to find quite a crowd had gathered around them while they'd been talking: policemen, lighting men, script girls, men toting huge cameras and the like. One in particular stood out from the rest, a man who was clearly the director of the film they had inadvertently interrupted.

"Yeah, we're done. That was a great take, boys. But, are you all right, George?" the American asked, clearly concerned. "Who are these people?"

"Oh, that's The Doctor," John said off-handedly. "I think the girl there's one of his patients."

"You what!"

Rose made a face, which John creatively returned.

The Doctor had to cough to cover a laugh.

The director frowned at him.

"A doctor, eh?" he said suspiciously.

"That's right," the Doctor confirmed, digging out his psychic paper once more. "Richard Lester, is it? Or do you prefer Dick? Love your work. My friend Rose and I saw George take that spill and thought we'd lend a hand. He's fine, by the way. Just a few minor bumps and scratches."

"Hmph," the director grunted. "Well, thank you for your help, Doctor…?"

"Just the Doctor," the Doctor said, and grinned. "And it was my pleasure, really. I'm a great fan. Truly, a great fan. Huge."

The director returned his smile, but with a hint of impatience. Taking the hint, the Doctor quickly added, "Well, looks like our work here is done, eh Rose? We won't hold up production any longer."

Rose shook her head, still looking somewhat flustered.

"Er, no. No, we'll just be goin' now. So great to meet you. All. All of you."

But the director was already herding his stars away. Rose looked up to find the Doctor smirking at her.

"What?" she frowned.

"It was you," he said, still smirking.

"What was me?"

"Back there with the rock. It was you. You tripped the Beatles!"

Rose's eyes widened in understanding.

"Oh… No, you don't mean…"

"Yep!" The Doctor beamed. "That was the take–the one ol' Dicky-boy uses to open the film. One of the most famous opening scenes of all time and you, Rose Tyler, made it happen."

"You mean this film--the one they're makin' right now--this film is A Hard Day's Night?"

"The one and only," the Doctor said. "Brilliantly innovative film, this, decades ahead of its time! And so funny!"

"Who woulda guessed it, though," Rose mused, still a little awestruck. "One second we're tumbling through time and space, and the next we're standin' in the street watchin' the filming of A Hard Day's Night. And not just watchin' either. We actually met the Beatles!"

"I know!" The Doctor laughed, taking her elbow. "Told you we were in London! This street here, this is Boston Place. We're standing right next to Marylebone Railway Station, and it's the spring of 1964. Not a bad bit of history to pop up in, eh?"

"A bit loud, though," Rose commented, glancing around at the scores upon scores of screaming fans that filled the alley and the street beyond. "If this is the kind of thing the Beatles had to put up with every time they went out somewhere, it's no wonder they locked themselves away in their studio. This is mad!"

"Of course it's mad! This is Beatlemania at its height," the Doctor said, smiling at all the excited young faces. "Makes a nice change to hear screams of joy for once. All these kids, campin' out for days just to catch a glimpse of their heroes… They made this film to capture all that. And, of course, to take advantage of the mania to sell the Beatles' records. The producers really didn't think it would last beyond 1964." He snorted. "Little did they know the best was still to come. The Beatles–the Mozarts of their generation. They really did change the world."

Rose nodded. She loved seeing the Doctor so happy. She only hoped this moment would be allowed to last for once. Usually, they barely had a chance to catch their breath before having their day spoiled by some insidious alien menace.

"So," she said, linking her arm through his, "So far today we've survived bein' yanked out of the vortex by some unknown space oddity, we've met the Beatles, and influenced the making of a film classic. Where are we off to next? Want to grab a bite for lunch?"

The Doctor grinned down at her, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "Sounds good to me," he said. "It's rather too crowded here, though. I'd imagine all the shops are packed. What are you in the mood for?"

"Mmm, I want a meat pasty," she said, closing her eyes with a smile. "All flaky on the outside and rich gravy inside."

The Doctor glanced at her in surprise. "What, no chips?"

"Oh no, I'm savin' those. You know, for after I beat you dancin' on Silmar III."

"Indeed." The Doctor smirked at her cheeky grin. "And just where would we find these meat pastys?"

"There's this little shop in Kingston that sells 'em–near the Bentall Centre. They're fantastic. Mind goin' there?"

"Why not," the Doctor said gamely as he fished his TARDIS key from his pocket. "I haven't been to Kingston in quite a while. We could picnic by the Thames–feed the swans that swim by from Hampton Court…"

He trailed off, the smile fading slowly from his features as he turned his head back the way they'd come.

"Rose," he said, "did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" she asked, her stomach sinking at his wary tone. She knew the moment had been too good to last…

A shrill, distant chorus of terrified screaming rang out from the direction of the station.

The Doctor shoved the TARDIS key back in his pocket.

"That!" he cried, already racing through the crowds to the end of the alley.

Rose followed close at his heels, careful to keep his billowing overcoat in view at all times. It looked like another adventure was underway. That meat pasty could wait.

To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References: A Hard Day's Night (movie) and the book The Official Abbey Road Cafe Guide to the Beatles' London by Richard Porter.


	6. Chapter Four

The scene at the station entrance was sheer pandemonium. Terrified fans and members of the film crew poured out of the doors in a panic, flooding the street despite all attempts by the gathered police to keep them organized. Rose and the Doctor were like a pair of salmon fighting their way upstream as they pushed their way through the mob and into the rapidly emptying Marylebone Station.

Spotting the director, Lester, crouched warily behind a line of phone booths, the Doctor raced toward him through the diminishing crowd.

"What is it?" he shouted over the noise. "What's going on here?"

"It—they—"

The director shook his head, struggling to contain his outrage.

"I'm not sure what happened. There was some kind of disturbance, over there by the shadows." He pointed to the space between two waiting trains. "And then, suddenly, everyone was running for the exits—the whole blasted mob! They trampled the lamps, smashed up two cameras—it's a miracle they didn't crush me as well!"

"And the Beatles?" Rose asked, anxiously glancing around the cavernous station.

Lester gestured to the phone booths.

"I shoved the boys in here before the main stampede passed, so at least they're—"

He flung open the nearest phone booth only to gasp in incredulous anger.

"Where've they gone!"

The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver, holding it just above eye-level as he began a scan of the area. He lowered the device after only a moment, his brow furrowed in confused apprehension.

"That can't be right…"

"What is it?" Rose began, but the Doctor was already jogging toward the train platform, his overcoat billowing out behind him.

Rose started to follow him, but she stopped when a movement caught her eye over by the concession stands.

"Mr. Lester!" she cried, happily pointing to a small table where four young men were taking their ease, sipping colas and smoking. "Mr. Lester, I found 'em! They're over here!"

The relief on the director's weary face was enormous. Leaving the Doctor to investigate the trains on his own, the pair of them dashed to the Beatles' side.

"Thank God," Lester gasped, leaning against the table as he caught his breath. "I should beat the lot of you for the scare you gave me just now. Especially you," he pointed to John. "This isn't some scene from a movie, you know. When I tell you to stay put, I expect you to stay put!"

John had the good grace to look contrite, though somehow the expression didn't quite make it to his eyes.

"Sorry, Dad," he said.

"Don't give me that famous Lennon cheek," the director said angrily. "I thought you were gone! I thought you'd been carried away by that crazy mob—trampled or concussed or suffocated! Two cameras have already been crushed, and with our impossibly tight shooting schedule we honestly can not afford this kind of impudent, irresponsible—"

"Oi," Rose snapped, leaping to the Beatles' defense. "Don't be so hard on 'em. It's not like they left or anythin'. They just didn't want to stay cooped up in them phone booths, isn't that right, lads?"

"By George, George, I do believe she's got it." Paul smirked, speaking in a falsely posh accent as he clinked his soda can against George's. Rose immediately blushed. George looked slightly sheepish.

"We didn't intend to worry you, Dick," he said. "You know that. But Rose here is right. We've been stuck in cars and rooms and things for so long, and when the crowd started clearin' out, we couldn't help ourselves. We had to get out."

The director sighed deeply, rubbing his red-rimmed eyes.

John kicked out a chair.

"Have a seat, old son," he said kindly. "You look plumb tuckered out."

The American shot him a look, but couldn't suppress a slight smile.

"As you British say," he said, "Ta."

"Here, Rose, you sit too," Ringo said, pulling a chair over from a neighboring table.

"Yes, Rose, do sit down," John added, reaching over to the ashtray at the center of the table to extinguish his cigarette stub. "Tell us, where's that doctor friend of yours got to?"

"What doctor friend is this, then?" Paul asked curiously.

"Wouldn't give a name," John told him, never taking his sharp eyes from Rose's face. "Just calls himself The Doctor."

"Hm," Paul grunted. "Sounds like a quack to me."

"Nah, he seemed genuine enough," Ringo spoke up. "He examined George after that tumble we had outside."

"Yeah, but he didn't actually do anything, did he?" John pointed out. "Just spouted a lot of prattle. You tell us, Rose. What's this Doctor like?"

"He's genuine all right," Rose assured them fiercely, starting to feel defensive under John's searching gaze. "And 'e's more than jus' a doctor. Much more."

"Is that right?"

John shared a look with Paul, who covered a smirk by taking a sip of cola.

Rose glared.

"Yeah, that is right," she snapped. "And what's more—"

Rose would have gone on, but at that moment everyone at the table was distracted by a blinding flicker of light from behind. The flash was closely followed by a horrified exclamation from the Doctor—a phrase Rose had never heard him utter before.

"By Rassilon!"

Shooting at once to her feet, Rose was halfway to the platform when she heard the Doctor's voice again, shouting desperately for her to keep back.

"Where are you?" she cried, shielding her squinted eyes against the light as she searched in vain for the Doctor's slender form. "What's goin' on? Doctor!"

As quickly as it had appeared, the light vanished, leaving Rose's eyes dazzled. She shook her head, trying to blink away the colored spots clouding her vision. The next thing she knew, she felt the Doctor's lean arms grab her by the torso, pulling her to the hard ground.

"Get down!" he was shouting, his voice hard with urgency. "All of you! Down, now! Don't let it touch you!"

Rose gasped, disoriented and angry, but before she could speak out, the Doctor was leaning over her again, shielding her with his body as he pointed his sonic screwdriver at something hovering to their left.

Rose turned her head and frowned, struggling to process what she was seeing. At first glance, whatever it was the Doctor was holding at bay seemed invisible—yet she could tell it was there, and solid. She couldn't quite make out its shape, but looking at it made her think of an invisibility cloak, distorting the background to shield its wearer from view. Even stranger than its appearance, though, was the odd sort of pull she could feel emanating from the creature; as though it were a magnet drawing her in, nearer…nearer…

The feel of the Doctor's hand squeezing her shoulder brought her back to the moment, and she looked up, startled to see his bright eyes so close to hers. She flushed despite herself.

"You all right, Rose?" he asked, apparently oblivious to her embarrassingly human reaction to his proximity. She took in a shaky breath, only to find herself distracted by his familiar scent filling the air around her, the scent of the TARDIS that clung to his clothes and hair…

Clearing her throat, she forced herself to look away from his concerned face, focusing instead on getting some answers. "What is that thing?" she demanded. "Did it cause that flash?"

"That's what we're gonna find out," the Doctor asserted, never wavering in his aim as he rose to crouch protectively by her side.

The creature tried to make a move forward, only to pull back with an inhuman shriek when the Doctor briefly activated his sonic screwdriver.

"Yeah, that's right," he snarled at the creature. "You don't like it when I up the frequency, do you?"

The creature began to babble then; strange, jumbled sounds that Rose felt she could almost recognize as words. She looked over to the Doctor, but to her disappointment he seemed just as baffled by the noises as she was.

"What is that?" Lester called out from where he and the Beatles were lying flat on the floor, his eyes wide and terrified. "What's it saying?"

At the sound of Lester's voice, the thing reared up with a garbled roar, flying toward the huddled group with impossible speed. At once, the Doctor was on his feet, his sonic screwdriver shrilling loudly. Rose winced at the painful sound, but the creature's reaction was even worse. It writhed and twisted, letting loose with horrific, otherworldly shrieks. The Doctor advanced determinedly, refusing to let up.

Suddenly, in a move that surprised even the Doctor, the creature seemed to flatten. As they watched, it stretched and shrank, fading slowly before finally compressing itself into nothing.

"It's transdimensional!" the Doctor breathed, his brown eyes shining with boyish wonder. "Amazing! A transdimensional being. But what's it doing here?" he mused to himself. "Why come to this place, this time?"

He spun around, his expression manic.

"Rose, come on!" he exclaimed, already running for the exit. "We've got to track that thing before its residual trail begins to fade!"

"Doctor!" Rose shouted after him, her incredulous tone bringing him to a stop. He looked back at her in uncomprehending frustration.

Rose gestured pointedly to the frightened rock group only now picking themselves up from the floor.

"What about them?" she said. "We can't just run off without some explanation!"

"Can't we?" the Doctor moaned.

At Rose's firm look, he sighed and jogged back.

"Sorry we can't stay to chat, lads," he said impatiently, "but Rose and I really must dash. Transdimensional monsters to track, planets to protect, you know how it is."

"But Doctor," Lester broke in. "That…that thing. Will it come back?"

The Doctor winced, reaching up to scratch at his ear.

"Well…I'm going to go with 'no.' For now, anyway. But I won't know for sure 'till I can track its path, see where it's going. Which is why we've really got to go. Right now."

This last was directed pointedly at Rose. The Doctor was fidgeting badly, rocking on the balls of his feet in his eagerness to be gone.

Rose sighed and turned an apologetic look to the group.

"It was wonderful gettin' to meet you all," she told them sincerely. "And good luck with the filmin', yeah? It'll be fantastic, I jus' know it!"

Before anyone else could speak, the Doctor grabbed Rose's hand and the pair sprinted for the exit, leaving the Beatles and their befuddled director to stare after them.

"Well," Lester said after a very long moment. "I don't know about you boys, but I could certainly use a drink. Come on, let's go round up what's left of the crew. We'll resume filming after lunch."

To Be Continued...


	7. Chapter Five

The Doctor burst into the TARDIS with all the energy and determination of a cannonball, charging up the ramp to pounce on the console controls. 

Rose followed behind him, taking the time to close the TARDIS doors before scurrying to his side.

"Well?" she prompted eagerly, her pale face flushed and her eyes bright from running.

The Doctor took a moment to glance at her, but the full fury of his frenzied attention remained focused on his work.

"It's still there!" he told her, triumphantly cranking a squeaking wheel before continuing his manic dance around the console, speaking all the while. "The residual trail! It's quite faint, but I can boost the scanners—" he roughly pumped a creaky lever—"to extrapolate its most likely course through time and space—" his sonic screwdriver was out now, and buzzing loudly at a cluster of tubes just under the main console— "Ha! And there it is! See? That's the creature, there. Found it!"

He pointed excitedly to a thin line squiggling its silent way across a flat panel screen. 

Rose nodded gamely, more amused by his antics than she was interested in the technical aspects of the chase.

"Right, you found it," she smiled. "What now?"

"Now all I've gotta do is link the scanners up with the main navigation systems—" the Doctor rolled another wheel under his palm, then swooped over to his monitor, picking and tapping at various buttons, "and lock onto the creature's energy signature. Then we can track it through the vortex all the way to its final destination. Easy-peasy!"

He beamed at her and pushed down a final lever, his brown eyes alight and gleaming in the greenish light as the humming time rotor began to wheeze out the familiar whirrs of dematerialization.

"Hold on!"

Rose grabbed for purchase as the TARDIS lurched under their feet, knocking both her and the Doctor against the console, then threatening to hurl them to the floor.

"Yee-haw!" the Doctor cried, throwing out his arm.

Rose joined in laughingly, the pair of them riding out the turbulent take-off as though the TARDIS were a mechanical rodeo bull.

After only a few moments, the Doctor crowed, "Ha ha! We've got it now. Look, Rose, see that mauve-colored dot?"

He held out a hand to steady her as she staggered over to his side.

"Still haven't got my space legs," she giggled, glancing at the tiny purplish speck flashing across the monitor screen. "So, that's our quarry then? Any ideas as to what it is?"

"Well, it's a transdimensional creature," the Doctor mused, "but apart from that, I'm afraid I haven't the foggiest. We'll just have to—hang on, what's that? Some kind of interference?"

"Where?" Rose asked, squinting at the incomprehensible circular scribbles and swirls that began to crowd the screen. "Is it another creature?"

The Doctor was frowning now, his glasses suddenly perched atop his narrow nose.

"No, it's the same creature, but it's just cut across the path of something…something else…" He trailed off, gently pushing Rose back a step so he could reach past her to another control. "No. No, that's impossible…"

Rose looked up at him in concern. The Doctor was just standing there, looking pale and off balance.

"Doctor?"

But the Doctor wasn't listening to her. Something had startled him, that much was clear. And whatever it was, it was affecting him very deeply. Rose hadn't seen him look quite this intense since…

"Oh my God—Doctor, it isn't the Cybermen, is it?"

The Doctor blinked and stared at her, looking distant and lost.

"What? Oh, no. No, it's…"

He shook his head, his expression turning fierce.

"It can't be there, that's what it is. It must be an echo of some sort. A reflection of our own engines resonating back at us…"

"What can't be there? What's echoin' back to us? Doctor, tell me what's got you so upset!"

The Doctor looked at her for a long, long moment, his expression stricken, yet ultimately unreadable.

"It's a TARDIS."

The way the Doctor said it was flat, matter of fact. But the gleam in his eyes spoke reams.

"A TARDIS?" Rose repeated softly. "But… But Doctor, you said…"

"I know what I said," the Doctor snapped. "These readings can't be right. That creature out there is doing something. Trying to mask its trail, no doubt. It must have sensed us following it, and it's attempting to distract our attention by projecting a gravity shadow of some sort. It isn't real."

Rose nodded. It was a plausible explanation, she supposed, but she could tell the Doctor didn't fully believe it.

"Can you tell where it's headed?" she asked gently.

The Doctor sniffed in a steadying breath and tapped at the controls.

"Both readings are headed for the same destination," he stated, his eyes hard behind his glasses. "Earth, the 21st of March, 1961. England. Looks like Liverpool, I believe."

"Liverpool? No joke?" Rose smirked despite herself. 

The Doctor shot her an arch look and she rolled her eyes.

"Come on, Doctor." She nudged him. "Liverpool? 1961? And we just left the Beatles?"

The Doctor furrowed his brow.

"Are you saying there's some connection?"

Rose shrugged.

"I don't know," she said. "But it's an interestin' coincidence, wouldn't you say?"

"Perhaps."

The Doctor looked thoughtful for a moment. Then, without warning, he leapt into action.

"Rose," he said, "hold down that lever, will you? Just there."

"This one?" Rose asked with a tentative gesture. The Doctor nodded.

"Yep, that's the one. I need to make a quick repair…"

"Repair? To what?"

"Just hold down that lever!" the Doctor shouted back, already lifting out a section of the floor grating to climb under the console. "This shouldn't take long. And then, the pair of us are taking a trip to the wardrobe. Whatever this creature's motives, it's a threat to the timeline. We're here to stop that threat, not make it worse. That means—"

"Oh, I know exactly what that means!" Rose beamed down at him. "Time for a 1960s makeover!"

*******

The darkened streets were limned with pale light from the lampposts when Harry Sullivan stepped out of the sweet shop and into the chilly, Liverpool air. Holding the door for his companions, he felt gratified when the Doctor said, "Have a jelly baby, Harry."

"Thanks."

Plucking two blackcurrents, an orange, and a strawberry from the white paper bag, he left the door to swing shut behind them, smiling to himself as the Doctor turned to Sarah Jane.

"Fancy a jelly baby, Sarah?"

"Oh, I can't eat those," she protested as they continued down the street toward the Cavern Club, making a bit of a face. The effect was somewhat ruined when the wind blew her short, brown hair across her eyes and she had to brush it away. "They all have names, don't they. I can't eat a baby-shaped jelly if it's got its own name."

"Could you eat a nameless jelly baby, then?" the Doctor asked curiously, munching on a lime-flavored one himself.

Sarah Jane shrugged, looking somewhat uncomfortable.

"I suppose that might make it easier," she admitted.

"And why would that be?"

Sarah Jane shot the Doctor a look over her shoulder, only to find he was giving her his complete attention.

"Why are you so interested?" she retorted.

The Doctor smiled.

"Well, it's a bit of a philosophical subject, isn't it," he said. "You humans are such a curious lot. You have no problem consuming a thing or even a creature as long as it's anonymous. Give your food a name, however, and suddenly a formerly nutritional matter becomes a full-blown issue of natural rights."

Sarah Jane shot him an incredulous look while Harry shook his head in bemusement.

"Ah, but our Sarah Jane is a sentimentalist, aren't you old thing?" he teased. "You act all tough, but I'll bet you were one of those kids who named your chess pieces, weren't you."

"Drop it, you." Sarah Jane scowled. "You're not getting this at all."

The Doctor's blue eyes twinkled beneath his battered brown fedora. 

"Then why don't you explain," he invited.

Sarah Jane shook her head in exasperation.

"Look," she said. "Once you give a thing a name, you've made it unique. You've singled it out from the crowd, as it were—made it special."

"Ah, I see," the Doctor said, peering at the lemon jelly baby on his palm with mock scrutiny. "So, because this little yellow jelly happens to have been given the name 'Bubbles,' it is made special and therefore unfit to eat?"

Sarah Jane glared, but couldn't stop the slight upward turn of her lips when she caught his expression.

"You're horrible, you know that," she said, snatching the soft jelly sweet from the Time Lord's hand and stuffing it in her mouth. "There, I ate your silly candy. Now, can we please go in the club?"

Harry nearly choked on his amusement, but the Doctor's laugh was deep and rich as he wrapped an arm around her slim shoulders for a brief squeeze.

"Dear Sarah. Of course we can! We didn't travel all this way just to skip the show, now did we?"

"I should hope not!"

Harry smiled, reaching over to open the door for them once again. Sarah Jane beamed up at him and strode right in. The Doctor moved to follow, but he had barely taken two steps before he froze, his cheerful expression vanishing as his round eyes widened in alarm.

"Doctor?"

Harry frowned, leaving the door to catch hold of his arm. 

"Doctor, what is it?"

"Go inside, Harry," the Time Lord said distantly, not focusing on his friend. "Tell Sarah I'll join you shortly."

Harry's frown deepened.

"But Doctor, surely—"

"I said go inside, Harry," the Doctor repeated, more firmly this time. "There's something I must see to."

"And you can't tell me what it is?" the young man asked.

"It may be nothing," the Doctor admitted, "but I've just sensed…" He shook his head, looking at Harry for the first time. "Go on," he said with a reassuring smile. "I won't be long. I've been wanting to see the Beatles myself, you know."

Harry still looked uncertain, but the Doctor charged off before he could protest, his long scarf trailing in the chilly wind.

"Harry, Doctor, aren't you coming…in…" Sarah Jane trailed off with an exasperated sigh as she strode out of the club to stand at Harry's side. "Oh, that's just marvelous. Where does he think he's off to?"

"Search me," Harry said. "But he said we should go on in without him."

"Fat chance," Sarah said. "If he's headed back for the TARDIS—"

"The TARDIS is that way." Harry pointed in the direction opposite to where the Doctor had vanished. "Don't worry, old thing, he promised he wouldn't be long."

Sarah Jane still looked torn, but a sudden outburst of cheers from inside seemed to sway her.

"Oh, all right," she said, leading the way back into the club. "But when the Doctor gets back here I'm going to jolly well give him a piece of my mind. His other self…the Doctor I knew before…he never would have just gone off and left us like that."

"Well, I wouldn't know," Harry said awkwardly. "I only met him after the regeneration."

"Yes," Sarah Jane said, a little sadly. Then she straightened her shoulders. "Well, it doesn't matter now. Come on. We've got a concert to watch!"

To Be Continued...


	8. Chapter Six

Rose turned slowly in front of the wardrobe mirror, examining her costume with a critical eye. The Doctor had left her with a few quick guidelines before they'd split up to pick out their respective outfits, but Rose wasn't sure if she was satisfied with her choices. To her 21st century mind, the conservative blue dress and white sweater ensemble hardly looked like something a teenager would wear for a night out.

"You don't have to look stereotypical," the Doctor had said. "Just pick something nice that won't stand out. Oh–and no mini-skirts! They weren't worn nationwide until 1967. You want something that'll cover your knees."

"Yeah, but does it have to be so…dowdy?" Rose muttered to herself, pulling uncomfortably at her large collar, then reaching up to give her hair a tentative pat. She had no idea what this 1960s puff thing was called, but it really was a terrible style, all big and stiff and horrible. She couldn't help but make a face. If her mate Keisha could see her now…

But then, that was the point, wasn't it? Sure, she'd spent the last year or so traveling the universe in a time machine, but this…seeing herself in the fashions of a past era–this truly felt like taking a step back in time. To a place where people dressed differently, spoke differently, even thought differently. Yes, this was what she most loved about traveling with the Doctor. With a flip of a switch on his console, he could turn a place as ordinary as Liverpool into a foreign planet, itching to be experienced and explored…

Rose was so involved with her thoughts that she didn't notice the Doctor had come back until he was beside her, grinning broadly at her in the mirror.

"Oh, yes!" he said approvingly. "That's it exactly!"

Rose jumped, then stared, her jaw literally dropping as her eyes fell on his reflection. The Doctor wore a black sweater over a white shirt and black trousers. His unruly hair was brushed sharply back at the sides, though pretty much left to itself on top, and a thick pair of black-rimmed glasses–very different from his usual sleek specs–perched heavily on his nose. (1)

"Oh my…" She shook her head, trembling with barely contained laughter as she turned to face him. "You…" A flood of snickers stole her voice and she was forced to point. "You look jus' like Buddy Holly!"

"Ha ha," the Doctor said, looking slightly hurt. "Then you're Mary Tyler Moore."

"Oh God!" Rose spun back to the mirror in horror. "It's not that bad, is it?"

"No, no it's perfect!" he hastened to assure her, chuckling at her expression. "Believe me. Here." He held out a wide, blue satin ribbon. "I found this for your hair. Good job on that, by the way. I'm impressed."

Rose shrugged and took the ribbon. "The TARDIS left me an instruction sheet," she said, struggling to find a way to tie the ribbon around her head without deflating her 'do. Muttering more to herself than to him, she continued, "But that don't stop me feelin' like some bleedin' great mushroom…"

After several failed attempts, she sighed, giving up on the ribbon in frustration. "I can't do this."

"Here," the Doctor offered, struggling to restrain a smirk. "Let me."

As Rose crumpled the ribbon back into his hand, the Doctor found it very hard not to think of Susan…his beloved granddaughter whom he had left behind long ago–so very long ago now. The ribbon he was holding was her ribbon, and that sweater had also been hers. Susan had loved the 1960s; she had wanted to make their home there. But fate had intervened–fate and his own stubborn, selfish, cantankerous nature, he had to admit–and they had been forced to leave, swept away for the life of adventure and discovery he had craved for so long…

Well, he had that life now. And, more importantly, he had Rose. Rose, who was expecting him to tie that ribbon without getting her hair caught in the knot…

The Doctor swallowed hard, fiercely shoving his memories back into the past where they belonged. That much, at least, was easy. The guilt, however, was always harder to staunch.

"There you are!" he said at last, giving the knot a light pat. With a small grin, he watched as she twisted the ribbon until the bow was hidden under her hair. "Lovely!"

Rose gauged the effect in the mirror with a grudging smile. The ribbon did actually help. Adding that one band of color had suddenly made her entire outfit seem at least twenty years younger.

"Thanks," she said, turning to face him with a rather coy smirk. "An' to tell the truth, you're not so bad yourself, really."

The Doctor gave her a look, as if he didn't quite believe her. "Yeah?"

Rose nodded, then averted her eyes, unable to suppress a giggle. "Yeah," she said. "Though you must admit, those glasses do make you look rather…"

"Yes?" the Doctor drawled suspiciously. "Rather what?"

"Well," Rose shot him a cheeky smirk. "Rather like a geek."

The Doctor straightened, looking somewhat affronted. "I think they're quite chic, actually," he said defensively, looking in the mirror as he adjusted them on his nose. "Besides, they didn't have custom frames in 1961."

He glanced down. "I'm glad to see you chose sensible shoes at least."

"And I noticed you've still got your trainers," Rose shot back.

The Doctor gave her a wry glance, then shook his head with a smile. "Take this," he said, pulling a long, cloth coat with large buttons from a nearby rack…Barbara…that was Barbara's coat…and tossing it to her before snagging a navy blue jacket for himself. Every article of clothing in his vast wardrobe carried with it some memory, some recollection of past adventures, past companions who had traveled at his side, sharing the good times and the bad. If he just let them sit on their hangers this place would become a museum, a shrine to all he had lost, and that wouldn't be right. His life was still going on, and he still had adventures to share. For now, that coat, that sweater, that ribbon, they belonged to Rose. They could be mothballed again once this present mystery had been sorted. "It's bound to be chilly out there."

"Thanks," Rose said, shrugging it on without a thought. "So, where d'you reckon we'll find this creature thing?"

"Dunno," the Doctor admitted, holding out his hand for her as the pair of them headed into the corridor. "But I rigged up a remote device that's linked to the TARDIS sensors, so we can track its position as we go."

Rose blinked up at him in surprise. "When'd you find time to do that?"

The Doctor furrowed his brow. "What, rig up the remote? Oh, years ago now…I can't remember exactly…"

Rose frowned. "Was that the thingy you were fixin' before, then?"

"Huh? Oh, that!" The Doctor shot her his most mischievous grin, picking up their pace as he pulled her into the control room. "No, that was something entirely different. Go on." He gestured to the TARDIS doors. "See for yourself."

Curious, Rose hurried across the room, leaving the Doctor to pick through the pockets of his brown overcoat in search of his psychic paper and anything else they might need.

"Doctor," Rose called out almost immediately. "Doctor, somethin's weird. The doors look different! Sort of…metal."

The Doctor raised an intrigued eyebrow, leaving his coat behind with an apologetic pat before striding up beside her.

"Hey, yeah. It is metal!" He beamed in proud delight. "Ha! That must mean my repair worked! Come on, open 'em up! Let's see what's out there!"

Rose pulled on the new, metal latch, but the door didn't budge. She shot him a look.

"Try pushing," the Doctor suggested.

She did–and nearly lost her balance when the door swung open over a drop of at least three feet. The Doctor caught her arm with amazing reflexes, then hopped down to the ground, supporting her as she jumped out beside him. No sooner had she steadied herself, however, than she gasped–

"Doctor, the TARDIS!"

Looking back, the Doctor goggled a bit, then laughed brightly, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets as he made a jaunty, appraising circle around his ship. The TARDIS had materialized under a streetlamp so, despite the evening dimness, he could see every detail. Reaching out to fondly stroke her white, metal side, he said, "I see the old girl hasn't lost her sense of humor, eh Rose?"

Rose couldn't stop staring. "It's an ambulance," she said, her voice flat with disbelief. (2)

"Yep!"

"An ambulance with…with wheels, and headlights and a steering wheel and…and what's that, a numberplate?" Despite her shock, she smirked when she saw it read "WHERE 2."

"It's perfect!" the Doctor crowed, nearly giddy with pride. "A perfect 1961 ambulance, even down to the big red cross on the back and sides! Oh, my clever, beautiful ship… It's brilliant, don't you think, Rose?"

Rose nodded despite herself, sliding her tongue across her teeth. "Yeah," she admitted with an incredulous chuckle. "Yeah, it really is. Can you…well…you know… Since it is an ambulance, could we…drive it?"

The Doctor's bottom lip jutted in a surprised sort of frown, as if he'd never have thought of that. Pulling his TARDIS key from his pocket, he shot her a positively wicked grin. "Let's find out!"

Like a pair of excited preschoolers with a brand new toy, the Doctor and Rose scampered into the ambulance's cabin, Rose taking shotgun while the Doctor slid the TARDIS key into the ignition and gave it a cautious turn. To their delight, a motor roared to life. The Doctor pulled a lever and the dashboard lit up, along with the headlights.

"Oh ho ho…" The Doctor chuckled low in his throat, his brown eyes shining behind his glasses as he ran his hands lovingly over the steering wheel. "Oh, this is brilliant…"

Rose tilted her head. "Doctor, I jus' thought of something," she said. "The TARDIS doesn't run on petrol, right?"

The Doctor shot her a look that bordered on offended.

"'Course not!"

"Then, how's the motor runnin'?"

The Doctor shook his head, clearly amused by the question.

"Rose," he said patiently, "despite her outward appearance, this is still the TARDIS. She has her own supply of power, drawn from the universe itself."

"Right, of course," Rose said wryly. "Silly me for askin.' So, where are we off to?"

"Well, let's see," the Doctor said, rummaging through his pockets and pulling out a rather chunky, black device that looked as though it had been cobbled together from spare parts. Knowing the Doctor, Rose wouldn't be surprised if it had.

"Hmm," the Doctor hummed. "According to this, the creature's really quite close. Probably only a few blocks away."

"Then what are we waitin' for?" Rose smiled. "Let's go!"

Setting his remote sensor on the dashboard like a GPS device to guide their way, the Doctor revved up the engine and put the ambulance into gear. Rose glanced at him, somewhat surprised at how easily he handled the old-fashioned machine.

"I didn't know you could drive," she commented.

"Who, me?" the Doctor said, pulling smoothly out into the street. "I'm an expert driver! Even had my own car once–Bessie, I called her."

"When was this?"

"Oh, ages ago. Way back in my third incarnation." The Doctor smiled at her wary expression. "Really, you needn't worry. I've found driving a car is rather like riding a bike. It's not something you forget, even after three hundred-however-many years. Or is it four hundred?" He glanced at her. "What?"

Rose was shooting him a wry look, as if to say 'and that's supposed to make me feel better, how?' But, out loud she said, "Well, I guess you're just full of surpris– Oi! Doctor, look out!"

"Rassilon!" the Doctor exclaimed for the second time that day, spinning the wheel sharply to the right to avoid an oncoming pedestrian. Slamming on the brakes, he looked back at the man with wide eyes, his face pale and his breath coming in short gasps. Rose looked back as well.

"Looks like some homeless bloke," she said, taking in the startled pedestrian's rumpled appearance. Certainly that ratty coat could only have been pulled from a pile of donated cast-offs–not to mention that ridiculous striped scarf.

"What kind of nutter would knit a scarf like that?" she mused under her breath.

"Would you believe Madame Nostradamus?"

"What?" Rose glanced over her shoulder, but the Doctor just shook his head, looking angry and more than a little ill. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," the Doctor said, too quickly. "Yeah I'm fine. Just…"

He turned on her then, his dark eyes burning with a fierceness she had rarely seen.

"Stay away from that man, Rose," he said. "If you spot him at any time while we're here, I want you to tell me at once. You got that?"

"Yeah…sure," Rose said slowly, clearly confused. "But why? Who is he?"

The Doctor gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles began to whiten, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

"He's the reason for all this," he said, indicating the cabin and their clothes…and Rose got the peculiar, itchy feeling that he meant much more besides. "No matter what happens, we cannot let that man know who we are. To do so would mean contaminating the timeline at a point already made vulnerable by that creature we're tracking, and I don't have to tell you what that means."

Rose took in a sharp breath. "Reapers…"

"At the very least," the Doctor emphasized. "So, until we leave, I don't want you calling me 'Doctor.'"

"What'm I supposed to call you, then?" Rose said teasingly, trying to inject some levity into the tense moment. "James McCrimmon of Balamory?"

The Doctor stared at her in surprise, and a slow smile spread over his drawn features.

"I've said this before and it still holds true. Rose Tyler, you're a genius! But not James, no, that would be too obvious," he said cryptically. "Robert could do, though. Yeah…Robert. Rrrobert." He rolled the 'r,' stretching out the word with a smile. "Robert McCrimmon. I like it. Has a nice Scottish ring."

"Like Sir Robert," Rose observed, a flicker of sadness passing over her face as she recalled the brave Scotsman they had met on a trip to 1879 (3).

The Doctor glanced at her, his lips pursed and solemn. But then he straightened and slapped his palms against the steering wheel, literally shaking off the somberness of the moment.

"Actually," he said, "I was thinking more along the lines of Robert Burns, but if–"

"Oop, Doctor–I mean, Robert," Rose alerted, pointing to the sidewalk at their left. "Looks like that man's comin' after us. Wanna make a run for it?"

"Pedal to the metal," he said, shifting the disguised TARDIS back into gear. "Let's see what this baby can do!"

"Doc–Robert, sorry," Rose corrected quickly. "Are you sure that readin's right?"

"'Course I am," the Doctor told her, pulling out his sonic screwdriver to confirm the frequency of the creature's trail. "There you are, see?" he said. "The creature's definitely inside that building."

"That building there," Rose pointed.

"Yes, that one," he stated, starting to become suspicious. "Why, is there something wrong with that building?"

"No, not wrong," Rose said, unable to suppress a growing smile. "But look at the poster on the wall."

JAZZ! JAZZ! JAZZ!  
ROCKI'N TRAD!  
ATMOSPHERE!  
EXCITEMENT  
AT LIVERPOOL'S JAZZ H.Q.

Every TUES., WED., FRI., SAT., SUN., Evening  
Lunchtime Sessions MON.–FRI.

THE MEMBERSHIP FEE IS 1/-  
WHY NOT JOIN  
THE CAVERN (4)

The Doctor's eyebrows rose high over his glasses.

"Right," he said. "So, that's the famous Cavern."

"The sign said this was Mathew Street," Rose pointed out. "An' you said yourself this was 1961. D'you think the Beatles could be playin' tonight?"

The Doctor frowned thoughtfully.

"The 21st of March... Of course!" he exclaimed. "This is the night the Beatles played their first evening performance at the Cavern Club! They were listed as guests–like the poster said, the Cavern was mainly a jazz club at this time–but even so..."

He trailed off, shooting Rose a peculiar little smile.

"You know," he said, "I'm starting to think that maybe you were right."

"About there bein' a connection between that creature an' the Beatles?"

He nodded.

"Yeah. And we've got to find out what that connection is before it's too late. Come on. Oh–and don't forget to lock up!"

Shoving the TARDIS key back in his pocket, the Doctor jumped down from the cab and waited for Rose to join him. But, as they dashed across the street, hand in hand, a shape broke away from the shadows to stand beside the parked TARDIS. 

A shape with a long, trailing scarf…

To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> (1) Apart from the color choices, Rose's and the Doctor's outfits were taken directly from a black and white photograph of a group of people dancing at the Cavern Club in 1961. The Doctor's hairstyle is based on a picture of John Lennon that was also taken at that time. Both pictures appeared in The Beatles Anthology published by Chronicle Books, San Francisco in 2000 and compiled from the Beatles' own writings and interviews, etc. General reference to the Wheezer song "Buddy Holly" (1994).
> 
> (2) In the Tom Baker episode The Deadly Assassin, the Time Lords point out that the shape of the old, 'obsolete' Type 40 TARDIS capsule "was infinitely variable." They could therefore be anything from grandfather clocks to wardrobes to a car parked in the street.
> 
> (3) Reference to the Second Series episode Tooth and Claw, in which Sir Robert MacLeish sacrificed his life to give Rose and the Doctor the time they needed to defeat a monstrous werewolf, and to the Second Doctor's kilt-wearing friend Jamie: James Robert McCrimmon. Also, reference to the Beatles' song: "Doctor Robert."
> 
> (4) The wording on the poster plastered to the side of the club is from a photocopy of an actual poster in The Beatles Anthology.


	9. Chapter Seven

There they were. The five Beatles, up on stage, laughing and grinning at each other in leather jackets and combed-back hair while they sang familiar classics Sarah Jane knew by heart. The songs weren't the Beatles' original compositions—it was still too early for that. But even so, the creative group managed to put a spin on them, add a certain flair that made each song their own.

"Incredible," she breathed, edging closer to the stage.

Stu Sutcliffe stood just above her, his back to the crowd so no one could tell he was only playing the root notes of chords on his bass guitar. And Pete Best sat at the back, looking quite serious as he beat at his drums. Slightly to her right, John, Paul, and George were giving it their all—though it seemed George was trying to sneak quick bites of his nearby sandwich whenever he didn't have to sing.

Needing to share her excitement with someone else, Sarah Jane turned to the girl dancing beside her, saying, "Isn't this incredible?"

"Oh, they're not bad," the girl allowed, "for a foreign band, anyway."

Sarah Jane squinted.

"What do you mean, foreign?"

"Well, they're from Hamburg, aren't they," the girl said. "Still, they speak English very well. To hear them talk, one would almost think they were locals!"

Sarah Jane blinked at that.

"No, I think you're confused," she said. "I know the Beatles played in Hamburg for a while, but they're from Liverpool. Really."

"Yeah?" The girl looked surprised. "Funny. My boyfriend said they were German."

"Nope, they're definitely English," Sarah Jane asserted, but the girl had already vanished into the crowd, probably looking for that boyfriend she'd mentioned. She shook her head in bemusement, only to break out in a grin as the Beatles' energetic rendition of "My Bonnie" came to an end and the group dove into their next number—one of Sarah Jane's favorites.

"Oh, ain't she sweet?  
Well see her walkin' down that street  
Yes, I ask you very confidentially  
Ain't she sweet?"

Scanning the faces around her in search of Harry, Sarah Jane was amused to find he was still just where she'd left him, standing at the edge of the crowd of dancing teens and bobbing his head to the beat. Maneuvering her way through the spirited dancers, she parked herself in front of him with a cheeky smirk.

"You can get out here and dance, you know," she teased. But Harry just shook his head.

"Oh, no. No thank you," he said awkwardly. "You know me, Sarah. Two left feet and all that…"

"Oh, Harry..." Sarah Jane tutted. "Tell me, what's the point traveling all this way if you're not going to enjoy it?"

"But I am enjoying it," Harry protested. "Here, if you like I'll even sing along!

"Just cast an eye in her direction  
Oh me, oh my  
Ain't that perfection?"

He faded off at Sarah Jane's chiding look.

"That's what all wall flowers say," she pointed out. "But the truth is you've begged off every dance so far. If you're just going to stand there impersonating a lump all night, you could just as well be back at UNIT HQ watching telly. The point of travel is to get the full experience! You know—get out on the dance floor. Have some fun, like everyone else!"

Harry still looked hesitant, but Sarah Jane took his hands with a grin that would suffer no argument. Even so, Harry wasn't ready to give in yet.

"I'll just make an ass of myself, you know that," he told her. "I can't dance, never could."

"Oh, surely you can do the twist! I know the Beatles sang that one, though I can't for the life of me remember when it came out. Or, how about the mashed potato? Can you do that?"

"No."

"Well then, what better time to learn!" Sarah Jane said. "I mean, look up there, Harry!" She gestured to the stage. "We're standing on the dance floor of the Cavern Club and the Beatles are playing live! This is hardly the time to worry about looking silly."

Glancing at the stage, Harry's defiant expression slowly faded and Sarah Jane knew she'd won.

"All right, old girl, you've made your point," he said, returning her smirky smile in kind. "Now, I may not know how to do the mashed potato, but I can do the Freddy."

At that startling revelation, Sarah Jane snorted so loudly the couple dancing next to them shot her a look. But even clamping both hands over her mouth couldn't hold in her laughter as Harry began to thrust out his arms and legs in time to the music.

"Come now, no fair laughing," Harry scolded playfully, reaching for her hand as he danced in place. "You asked for this dance, so you have to dance with me. It's the rules."

"What rules?" Sarah Jane laughed, surprising him by ducking under his arm for a graceful twirl. "When you travel with the Doctor, anything goes!"

"Oh, I-e-I re-e-epeat  
Well, don't you think that's kinda neat  
Yes, I ask you very confidentially  
Ain't she sweet?  
Weeell, I ask you very confidentially  
Ain't she sweet?" (1)

*******

Rose could feel the music more than hear it as she followed the Doctor down the stairs. Turning left, the pair came to a stop at the far edge of the dance floor. Rose broke into a broad grin at once, her eyes sparkling and her toe tapping as she took in the lively scene before her. Her immediate impulse was to grab the Doctor's hand and race right into the thick of the dancing crowd. But a glance at her companion wiped the smile from her face. The Doctor's dark eyes were fixed on his remote scanner, and his expression was grim. In fact, if she didn't know better, she'd say he seemed almost…frightened.

"Robert…" she started warily, but he quickly cut her off.

"OK, Rose, here's the plan," he said, glancing cautiously around the room at pretty much everything but her. "We find the creature, find out what it's after, then get out of here as quick as we can."

"Doctor," Rose said, pointedly using his proper title, "why are you bein' like this? There's somethin' you're not tellin' me, I know it."

The Doctor sighed, rubbing a tired hand over his face. "We don't belong here, Rose," he said softly. "We don't belong here, and neither does that creature. The risk of contamination keeps growing the longer we stay in this place. If something goes wrong—even the smallest thing—we could get back to your time only to find there's nothing left. Well, nothing recognizable, anyway…"

Rose stared at him. "OK, Doctor, you're really scarin' me now. I thought you said we were in our own universe. Why is comin' here so different from when we were watchin' the filming of A Hard Day's Night? You weren't worried about 'contamination' then."

"Yes, I know, but that was before I realized…"

The Doctor sighed again and scrubbed a hand through his hair.

"We are in our own universe, Rose," he stated, his expression turning oddly wistful. "In many ways, this is more our universe than the one you know."

Now Rose was completely lost.

"Huh?"

The Doctor grimaced, then glanced anxiously at his scanner.

"I'm sorry, Rose, I really am, but it's all just too much to explain right now. I promise, though, I'll tell you all about it after we get this creature sorted. All right?"

"No, it's not," Rose retorted angrily. "You're keepin' somethin' from me—somethin' big. An' we're not going to be 'all right' until you tell me what's really goin' on!" She glared. "What is it about that man in the scarf that's got you so scared you had to change the shape of the TARDIS? Why won't you tell me who he is? If this is you tryin' to protect me or somethin'—"

"No! I'm not—well…."

The Doctor looked torn, a touch guilty, and more than a little impatient.

"Look, Rose," he said, practically pleading. "I'll explain later. Honest. That man, the TARDIS, everything. I swear it, cross my hearts. But for now, please, I need you to stay here and keep an eye on this crowd. At the first sign of trouble, you've got to convince them to leave this place. Hopefully without causing too much of a panic. Can I count on you do that? To stay here and not to follow me?"

Rose's brown eyes flared for a moment, a host of protests collecting at the tip of her tongue. But then she looked away, her lips pursed in a scowl.

"You know you can," she told him, to his obvious relief. "But Doctor—!"

Her call caught him halfway to the stairs. She tried to smile, but she couldn't keep the worry from her eyes.

"Be careful, yeah?"

"Oh, you know me," he said, patting the pocket that held his sonic screwdriver. "I'm always careful!"

*******

"Did you hear that?" Sarah Jane asked, glancing sharply toward the stairs.

Harry frowned, finding it difficult even to hear Sarah's voice over the music.

"Hear what?" he asked.

"I thought I heard someone say 'Doctor.'" She shook her head. "Must be hearing things."

Harry nodded, taking a glance around for himself. The Beatles were now playing "Too Much Monkey Business"—an old Chuck Berry song from the '50s neither of them had heard before—but the people dancing seemed to be enjoying it.

"Speaking of the Doctor," he said, "where do you suppose he's got to?"

"You were with him when he went swanning off," Sarah Jane pointed out irritably. "Why don't you tell me?"

"Because he wouldn't tell me," Harry retorted. "I say, you don't suppose the old chap could have gotten himself in any trouble, do you? He has been gone quite a while now."

"Well, he is the Doctor," Sarah Jane said with a smirk. "He can't go anywhere without sticking his nose into something. But you're right. It has been a long time."

"Look, Sarah old girl, why don't you stay here? I'll go out front and wait for him to show up."

"Don't you 'old girl' me," Sarah Jane said. "We stick together. Come on."

Turning on her heel, she marched toward the exit, leaving the taller Harry struggling to follow her through the dense crowd.

"Sarah," he called. "Oh, excuse me…pardon—I'm so sorry… I say, Sarah Jane!"

A blonde girl to his right whipped her head around, startling him with the intensity of her stare.

"Did you jus' say Sarah Jane?" she asked, speaking in a thick, London accent.

Harry took a step back.

"Er, yes, actually—"

"That wouldn't be Sarah Jane Smith, by any chance?"

"Well, yes, in fact," Harry stammered, flustered. "But I'm sure you don't know her. There's an awful lot of Smiths about, you know…"

But the girl was still staring at him with that unnervingly suspicious gaze. Harry fidgeted, struggling to think of a polite way to make his escape, when to his immense relief Sarah Jane herself came up behind him.

"What's keeping you—oh, hello," she said, twining her arm with Harry's as she turned a curious smile to the girl. "Who's your friend?

The blonde girl gasped, then set her jaw, glaring daggers at the exit.

"So, that's it," she muttered angrily. "You jus' didn't want me to know you'd been here before!"

"Sorry?" Sarah asked, sharing a confused look with Harry.

"No, forget it." The girl shook her head, obviously upset. "It's nothin', really. You and the Doctor go have fun. Forget you ever saw me."

Harry gave a start.

"But I'm not the— Just a moment, how do you know the Doctor?"

The girl's eyes widened in alarm.

"You mean you're not… But, but I thought…"

She trailed off, suddenly looking deathly pale. Harry offered her a hand, but she shrugged him away.

"No, don't touch me…" she said distractedly. "He warned me about contamination. He warned me what could happen. An' now I've done it again, gone blundering in like some stupid ape…"

"Look, just who are you?" Sarah Jane asked, her voice laced with concern. "If you're in trouble, maybe we can help."

"No, really, jus' leave it," the girl told them, backing slowly away. "I don't want to make things any worse than I already have."

"Will you least wait until the Doctor gets here?" Harry asked, his own medical instincts twinging. "Whatever's troubling you, I'm sure he'd know what to—"

"Who's in trouble?" a deep voice spoke up, startling all three of them. "What have you two been up to while I was away?"

"Doctor!"

Sarah Jane beamed up at the scarfed man in open relief.

"Where have you been all this time? Harry and I were just about to go looking for you."

"Then I got here just in time," the Doctor said. "You'd never have found me. Hello, who's this?"

"She says she knows you, sir," Harry said, indicating the openly gaping blonde with a nod of his head. "And she seems to recognize Sarah as well."

"Hmm…" The tall man frowned, his sharp blue eyes lingering on the girl's dyed hair. "Well, you're clearly not from around here," he commented, and it was obvious he didn't just mean Liverpool. "But I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage."

He leaned in close to the staring girl, as if meaning to impart a secret.

"If I told you I'd seen an ambulance parked outside," he said softly, "what would you say?"

"I—" the girl started, but her voice was choked. "I'd say, I've gotta go. Right now. It's—it's very, very important that I go."

The Doctor nodded and straightened up, flipping the dangling ends of his scarf carelessly over his shoulder.

"I thought as much," he said. "Go on then. And when you find your friend, tell him it's very rude to stop by without offering so much as a handshake."

The girl stared for a moment longer, then turned and strode for the stairs as quickly as she could.

Harry and Sarah Jane watched her go in confusion, alarmed by the girl's obvious distress.

"What was all that about?" Sarah Jane spoke up at last.

"I'm not entirely sure," the Doctor admitted, his gaze fixed on the band still playing on stage. "But I intend to find out."

To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> (1) Ain't She Sweet, composed by Milton Ager and Jack Yellen in 1927. The Beatles recorded this song in 1961 with Pete Best on drums. Their version was released in 1964.


	10. Chapter Eight

Rose didn't know where the Doctor had gone after leaving her on the dance floor, but seeing the stairs to the cellar were barricaded with a chain and a sign which read "No Entry," she took an educated guess and slipped under it. Once she reached the bottom, though, she paused, leaning against the wall with a hand to her forehead. 

Her thoughts were reeling, and her stomach seemed to sympathize. She needed a moment to clear her head, to take a breath and figure out exactly what had happened up there.

The Doctor had lied to her. That much she knew. Not directly, no, but a lie of omission was still a lie. The fact that he hadn't actually come out with some great whopper of a fish story when she'd asked him to identify that scarfed man didn't make his deception hurt any less. Nor had it lessened the shock of seeing that same man standing beside Sarah Jane Smith.

Rose felt a burning in her eyes and she angrily blinked it away. Ever since they'd spotted that other TARDIS on the scanner, her Doctor had been shutting her out, deflecting her every question with empty platitudes and vague promises. 

Was it because of Sarah Jane Smith? Had he known she would be here with—with that other him? The man with the long scarf and the piercing blue eyes. The man she'd been warned to avoid at all costs.

The man Sarah Jane had called 'Doctor.'

Now that she'd seen him up close, in the light, it seemed incredible that she hadn't spotted it before. The features were different—very different—but the intensity was the same. That fierce, manic intelligence that was at once so intimidating, yet so alluring. It emanated from that man in waves so strong, Rose was embarrassed to think she could ever have mistaken that wavy-haired young friend of Sarah Jane's for the mysterious Time Lord.

And he was mysterious. Even now, after all they'd shared, all the adventures and hand-holding and intimate little smiles, she barely knew the Doctor at all. She had risked her life for him, as he had for her, and she would do it again in an instant. But the fact remained that in many ways, he was a stranger to her. She knew his heart. She knew the passion that formed his core. But there were so many details…so many events and people that had influenced his life, that had shaped him into the man he was today… It was there that she ran into the wall. The wall of his past, of the time before she knew him. The time before the War…

So many questions. So much hurt. Rose understood part of it. She was his present, unsullied by the traumas that had come before. With her, he could forget his guilt and concentrate on the future. She had seen him do it so many times on their journeys together, absorbing himself in her excitement, sharing in her wonder as together they saw the universe anew.

And then they would meet someone. Sarah Jane Smith. That robot dog, K-9. The Daleks. The Cybermen. And the fun would halt. The walls would rise. And Rose would find herself shunted to the side. Confronted with the shades and demons of his past, the Doctor would seal off his hearts and push her away.

Just as he was doing now.

Well, not this time. This time, Rose was getting her answers. And with his past literally standing upstairs, a flesh and blood reality, the Doctor would have no choice but to let her in.

Pushing off the wall, Rose stormed out of the stairwell into the dimly-lit corridor. Her dizziness was gone now, burnt away by her anger. She was ready for this confrontation. 

Rose Tyler would accept no more lies.

"Oh, Rose! Thought you were security for a moment."

And there he was, standing in the middle of the hallway in his ridiculous Buddy Holly get-up, completely oblivious to the hurt-fueled fury burning behind her eyes. Shooting her a quick, cursory glance, he twitched his lips upward in a brief, acknowledging smile, and went back to frowning at his blocky scanner, chattering at her the whole time.

"I was just about ready to come find you. Still haven't managed to get a solid lock on the creature, but it's definitely down here. Must be out of phase or something. It's odd, though. It seems almost like it's waiting—but waiting for what?"

He shook his head, lowering his instrument as he turned to face her at last. But even then his attention was focused inward, on his racing thoughts, not on her. He just kept babbling on, talking to himself as if she wasn't even there.

"I've got to find a way to communicate with it, bring it fully into this dimension," he mused. "If it only had a solid form, then we could—"

SLAP!

The Doctor cried out in flabbergasted alarm, clapping a startled hand to his stinging cheek.

"Yow—! What was that for!" he exclaimed, staring at her with his mouth agape.

Rose glared, unable to believe his nerve.

"He's you!" she shouted back, her indignation easily matching—even surpassing his. "He's you, Doctor, and you didn't tell me!"

"Wha—who?"

The Doctor looked confused for a moment, then understanding quickly lit his eyes. 

"Oh…" 

He winced, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a swear.

Rose's eyes blazed.

"What's the matter, Doctor?" she demanded, the hurt swelling in her heart causing her voice to crack. "Upset I sussed out your little secret? What was the point in keepin' this from me, huh? What? Did you think I couldn't handle it, seein' some weird-lookin' version of you swannin' around with Sarah Jane Smith? And that other one, the man, what's his name…"

"Harry," the Doctor supplied quietly, though behind his glasses his eyes were sharp. "Harry Sullivan. So, they're here too…"

"Don't act like you didn't know!" Rose snapped. "What else aren't you tellin' me, Doctor? What exactly is goin' on here?"

The Doctor glared.

"We don't have time for this," he said. "Not right now. When we get back to the TARDIS—"

"No. You're not slitherin' out of this. You're tellin' me everything, right now."

"Rose, please, try to understand," the Doctor started, his expression frustrated and slightly pleading. "We don't have the time. I told you, the longer we stay here—"

"Oh, forget it," Rose said, disgusted. "I know what it is. You don't trust me."

The Doctor blinked, taken aback by her blunt words.

"Rose—"

"You don't!" she cried. "Why else would you keep somethin' like this from me? Unless you think I'm jus' some thick, ignorant ape who wouldn't understand. How many of you are there, Doctor? Can you tell me that, at least?"

The Doctor set his jaw, his eyes flickering with quiet intensity.

"This is my tenth persona," he said flatly. "I have regenerated nine times."

Rose nodded slowly, taking the time to digest this information.

"And the one upstairs? The one with Sarah Jane? Which persona is he?"

"My fourth."

Rose looked at him then, her dark eyes hard and shiny with unshed tears.

"And why couldn't you just have told me that!" she demanded. "Why go through the whole production of makin' us change clothes and all the rest? Was it jus' to hide from him? Or is there somethin' more?"

"Oh, there's more," the Doctor assured her darkly. "Much, much more. So much more that even I can't completely wrap my head around the implications."

He sighed then, the worry in his eyes seeming to age his face at least ten years.

"Rose, I wasn't keeping this from you because I don't trust you. I couldn't explain before because the explanation is impossible."

"What do you mean, impossible?" she pressed.

"I mean impossible. My fourth self is gone, Rose. His time stream was erased when I ended the Time War. All eight of my previous personas were erased. The universe convulsed and they vanished from Time, along with the rest of my people when my planet burned."

"Your fourth self is here, though," Rose pointed out. "I talked with him. And you almost ran him down with the TARDIS! He's real."

"Yes!" The Doctor nodded vigorously. "And that's impossible! He shouldn't be here, and neither should Harry or Sarah Jane. His time path—the path they shared—does not exist."

Rose frowned.

"But…no, wait. That doesn't make sense! We met Sarah Jane back home, and she remembered you. And the Gelth—they knew about the Time Lords. And the Krillitanes. How could they know if the Time Lords have been erased? And you—if your past selves have been erased from time, how come you're still alive? And what about your parents? And their parents? If what you say is true, you were never even born!"

The Doctor sighed again, his expression tight, clearly fighting some kind of internal battle. But before he could respond, his struggle was cut short by another, much deeper voice.

"Excuse me!"

Startled, the Doctor and Rose turned to find the scarfed Doctor standing by the foot of the stairs. Snatching his crumpled fedora from his mop of wild curls, the tall man stepped into the hallway, his distinctive features split by a broad, toothy grin.

"I'm sorry for interrupting such an awkward silence," he told them companionably, "but I've been given to understand it's more polite to speak up and make your presence known than to eavesdrop from the stairwell."

The tenth Doctor looked stricken, but there was more than alarm burning in his dark eyes. There was anger.

"You," he snarled, his voice hard. "I should have expected... How much have you heard?"

"Not nearly as much as I'd have liked," the fourth Doctor replied easily, although his sharp, defiant eyes belied his casual smile. He turned to Rose, only to give a slight start, as if he'd just noticed she was standing there.

"Oh, hello again!" he said, a bright smile spreading over his face. "I don't believe we were properly introduced upstairs. What's your name?"

"No!" Ten interrupted firmly, moving to stand in front of Rose with his eyes fixed on his younger counterpart. "Don't answer him. Don't tell him anything."

The fourth Doctor blinked, seeming rather taken aback.

"I like that," he said. "I must say, even for the CIA, that's very rude. Don't you think that's very rude?" he asked Rose.

Rose looked lost, but Ten shushed any questions with a pointed glance.

"Yeah, rude, that's me," he snarled. "Now go away. I mean it. We don't need your help, and your presence here is only making my job more difficult."

Four frowned deeply, his round eyes wide and affronted.

"Well," he huffed. "I suppose if you don't want to introduce yourselves that's your business. But—"

"I'm glad that's understood," his older counterpart interrupted sharply, holding out an arm to herd him down the hall. "And I'm sure your friends are getting impatient waiting for you, so—"

"But let me guess," the fourth Doctor spoke over him, coming to an abrupt halt with a swivel of his heel.

Ten dropped his arm and sighed, squeezing his fingers through his hair.

"You're after that anomaly, aren't you," Four said, eyeing his reaction as well as Rose's. "Don't think I wasn't aware. There's a warp growing in the fabric of Time. I've been tracking it for nearly an hour now. Imagine my surprise when it led me here..." He stepped forward, looking Ten straight in the eye, "...to you."

Ten averted his gaze and Four smirked, his broad mouth quirked in victory.

"Tell me the truth now," he coaxed. "You're not really with the Celestial Intervention Agency, are you. You rigged your 'ambulance' to emit a false reading."

Ten didn't answer. He just stood there, stoic and cold, meeting Four's steady gaze with his own.

"Your mental shielding is impressive," Four observed. "I can tell you've had lots of practice. But you can't hide from me. There's something about you…something wrong. You don't belong here. And neither does that girl."

"Leave her out of this," the Doctor snapped. "Forget you ever saw her."

"Why?" Four demanded. "Who are you?"

"Doctor! Doctor, you have to—oh!"

The new voice caused everyone to jump. Sarah Jane cringed as two identical glares struck her, two razor-sharp voices chorusing, "Not now, Sarah!"

There was a moment of perfect silence. Sarah stared, her entire body frozen in place save for her eyes, which kept flicking from one Doctor to the other.

Rose pursed her lips, preparing for the inevitable explosion to come…

And then, Four blinked.

"Oh!" he said, his expression flooding with sudden realization as he turned back to the older Time Lord. "Well, I… Oh! Oh, I see!"

"Damn," Ten grunted, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

Four shot him an almost sympathetic look, but his broad shoulders shook with laughter.

"Oh, my dear old chap," he chuckled, biting his lip in a vain attempt to hold in his amusement.

"Shut up," Ten growled. "You have to admit, it was working for a while there. You had no idea who I was."

"I wouldn't go quite that far," Four said, still struggling to suppress a wicked smirk. "But I will admit you were right to try to put me off. We're standing in the midst of a paradox here, after all. Can't be good for that anomaly."

"You're tellin' me!" Ten retorted, clearly exasperated.

"So what are we going to do about it?"

"Well, I was thinking—hang on!" Ten frowned. "We? Oh, no no no no no. There is no 'we' here. This anomaly is my problem. I'll be the one to sort it. Me, not you."

"But surely the damage has already been done," Four protested. "Besides, this is my time stream you've blundered into. I should be the one telling you to get lost."

"Doctor," Rose spoke up before he could retort, giving Ten's arm a light tug. "Can't you two sort this out later? I think Sarah Jane wants to tell you somethin'."

"Huh?" Both Doctors looked slightly startled, as if they'd forgotten the girls were there. Ten glanced first at Rose, then at Sarah Jane, and his eyes widened. "Ah." He winced. "Hello, Sarah Jane."

"Oh. My. Goodness," Sarah Jane pronounced from the stairwell, her head tilted in amazement. "It's you. The both of you. Two Doctors." She shook her head. "That explains…well, a lot, really."

"It does?" Four blinked. Ten gave an awkward smile, pulling uncomfortably at his ear. Sarah Jane returned his smile with a little wave, her eyes wide as she looked him up and down. 

Rose crossed her arms over her chest and cleared her throat, pointedly.

"Yes, Sarah? You were sayin'?" she said.

Sarah Jane blinked out of her startled daze, then nodded, suddenly all business.

"Yeah… Yes, right. Doctor," she said, striding up to take Four by the arm. "You have to come with me. Something's going on upstairs—something strange. Harry's keeping an eye on it, but… You really should come look."

Ten frowned and turned at once to his scanner, his expression hardening when he saw the reading. Shooting an anxious glance at Rose, he said, "It's come through. The creature."

Rose gasped.

"But that means… Oh God, the Beatles…!"

"Wait, what's going on?" Sarah Jane asked. "Are the Beatles in danger?"

"No time for explanations," Ten snapped, already rushing up the corridor with Rose's hand securely in his. "You," he shouted back to Four. "If you still want to help, then come on. And set your sonic screwdriver to 65B! I've a feeling we might need it!"

To Be Continued...


	11. Chapter Nine

It was just hovering, whatever it was. There, above the stage. It floated and bobbed up where the ceiling met the wall, an odd, warping sort of glimmer that looked decidedly out of place in an early 1960s dance club.

Dr. Harry Sullivan watched the thing with a wary eye, trying to appear inconspicuous about doing it. So far, no one else seemed to have noticed the peculiar pulsing glimmer—or, if they had, they didn't think much of it. Harry knew it was his job to keep it that way, at least until Sarah Jane returned with the Doctor.

The former naval surgeon had to marvel, though. The thing looked so plainly 'alien' to him. He could practically feel its strange energy, a subtle throb, pulsing in his ears, causing his skin to tingle. Yet the people laughing and chatting all around him were completely oblivious.

But perhaps that's what travel with the Doctor did to a person, he reflected. Made them more sensitive, somehow, more alert to their surroundings. Made them less willing to overlook the unfamiliar, allowing them to really notice the oddities one might normally blow off as a prank, or a trick of the light. It had certainly had that effect on him.

Harry had always considered himself to be a steady, level headed sort of chap. The type of chap who, while he did enjoy indulging in the odd flight of fancy now and then—as evidenced by his secret passion for cheap thriller novels—nevertheless had his feet planted firmly and sensibly on the ground. He still pictured himself as that kind of man. Only now, being sensible meant learning to accept the unusual as well as the mundane.

When he had first accepted his position as UNIT's newest medical officer, Harry had privately feared that he was giving up his boyhood dreams of adventure for the grown-up security of a desk job. His first assignment, handed down from Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart himself, had seemed to confirm those fears. He'd been ordered to keep a close eye on UNIT's scientific advisor, who'd been lying in the sick bay, mysteriously unconscious. A simple enough case, he'd thought. Mundane, even. The man probably had a concussion. A few hours of observation, and he'd be back to work in no time (1).

It wasn't until Harry found himself upside down in a metal locker with his feet tied together by a jump rope that he began to realize his mistake. The man from the sick bay wasn't concussed. He was bonkers! Who else but a madman would try to escape medical care by hiding himself in some battered police box stowed in the corner of his own laboratory?

But for all his barely coherent ravings about complete cellular regeneration, new ears, time travel, and emotionally conflicted giant robots, there had been something strangely honest about that peculiar-looking man. That Doctor. Something Harry had instinctively trusted, although he still couldn't explain why—especially given the mortifying jump rope incident.

In any case, it wasn't long before he discovered it was he who was the odd man out in his skeptical criticisms of the Doctor's mad theories. Sarah Jane, even the Brigadier himself, had seemed so willing to put their trust in the man's advice, however impossible it seemed. And so it was that, by the time unfolding events had ultimately proved the Doctor's theories to be right, Harry had actually begun to believe. Not that the Doctor was an alien, but that there was more out there than the sheltered life of military rules and discipline he had previously known.

That's the way things worked with the Doctor. Harry had spent only a few days in his quirky company, and already the blinders of his former life had begun to fade. But the final straw had come a short time later. When the Doctor had challenged him to enter his TARDIS.

Harry had been terribly disappointed at the time. He had come to think of the Doctor as such a brilliant fellow in so many ways. It had hurt him that he still insisted on clinging to these strange delusions that he was of extraterrestrial origin. Heaving a patronizing sigh, Harry had tried one last time to straighten him out—as a friend this time, rather than his assigned physician.

"Now then, Doctor," he'd said. "You're a reasonable man, and I'm a reasonable man. And we both know police boxes don't go careering about in time and space."

The Doctor's round eyes had widened in a look of genuine surprise.

"Do we?"

"Of course we do!" Harry had protested, looking to Sarah Jane for support. But the young reporter had just stood there, unhelpful amusement perking all over her face.

"Tell you what, old chap," the Doctor had said, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial manner. "Tell you what—you wouldn't care to step inside for a moment? Hm? Just to convince me that it's all an illusion."

Surprised at his willingness to let him in, Harry had shrugged. "Well, naturally, Doctor, if you think it would help you at all…"

"Oh, it would!" The Doctor had beamed in earnest delight. "It would make me feel much better!"

"Now Doctor…" Sarah Jane had started, but the Doctor had met her concern for Harry with a wicked grin. With a sweep of his arm, he waved Harry into the box.

"In you go, old chap…"

And in Harry went (2). Into an impossible white room that was bigger on the inside than it was on the outside. And as he stood there gawping, he was suddenly struck with the earth-jarring realization that the Doctor had not been deluded after all. All along, the one in denial had been him. The Doctor really was an alien. Police boxes did travel in time—at least, those few police boxes that were actually Gallifreyan time capsules in disguise. And Harry Sullivan, who had always thought himself so sensible, began to feel his mind expand until it was nearly as large inside as the TARDIS's dimensionally transcendental interior. It was a dizzy, overwhelming sensation, and one he was still not completely used to, even after all these months of travel and adventure.

So now, as he looked around the room at the oblivious crowds, he thought he could begin to understand why that strange glimmer called to him and no one else. His was the only eye in the room with enough extra-terrestrial experience to recognize that what he was seeing was real. It was real, it was powerful, and it didn't belong, and the sooner the Doctor returned to deal with it, the better Harry would like it.

The Beatles had finished their performance by this time, and were packing up their instruments and joking with fans. The next act, a jazz band, was due to start in about five or ten minutes, but they had yet to turn up.

His gaze flicking from the smiling band to the pulsing thing hovering unnoticed over their heads, Harry crossed his arms, trying to still the impatient tapping of his toes. He'd give Sarah Jane one more minute. If the Doctor didn't show up by then, Harry was resolved to go find him himself.

"Come on, Doctor," he muttered under his breath as the seconds ticked away, anxiously rocking on his heels. "Where are you?"

"I'm right here," an unfamiliar voice came from directly beside him, higher pitched and rather more Londoney than the Doctor's familiar rich tones. "And just in time too, by the look of things."

Harry stared at the wiry newcomer, frowning as he took in everything from his thick, black-framed glasses to his worn converse trainers to the odd, blocky device he held in his hand. 

The young stranger beamed at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Hello, Harry," he said brightly. "Long time no see."

Harry's suspicious frown deepened.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "Where's the Doctor?"

The young man sighed and shook his head, his broad smile fading to something slightly more patronizing. When he spoke, though, his voice was warm with affection.

"Harry Sullivan," he said. "It really has been too long. I'd love to catch up, but right now we've got far more pressing business. I take it you've noticed that glimmery thing up there?"

"Of course," Harry sniffed. "That's why I sent Sarah Jane off to find the Doctor. The real Doctor, that is."

The stranger raised an eyebrow, but before he could respond another voice interrupted him.

"Is that so?"

Harry turned, his expression brightening in relief when he saw Sarah Jane, accompanied by the Doctor. The real, familiar Doctor, tall and distinctive in his floppy hat and over-long scarf.

Sarah Jane didn't seem to notice his reaction.

"As I recall," she said, "I was the one who told you stay up here and keep watch."

The stranger smirked.

"Right, yes, I'd forgotten your little rivalry," he said. "But really, I'd appreciate it if we could all just concentrate for a moment. We need to get everyone out of here, preferably within the next…oooh…two minutes and fifty-three seconds, give or take a second."

"Why?" Harry demanded. "And why should we listen to you? You still haven't told me who you are!"

"Calm down, Harry," the scarfed Doctor said, placing a stilling hand on the bristling young surgeon's broad shoulder. "He's come to help. For now, I believe we should do as he says."

The stranger raised his eyebrows.

"Thanks," he said, and slipped quickly into lecture mode. "Now, here's the situation. You all see that weird warpy, glimmery-looking thing up there, yes? Well, that thing is a transdimensional creature, and it's on the hunt. For what, I'm not sure yet, but currently the theory is that it's tracking the Beatles."

"The Beatles?"

Four frowned, glancing over at the band members where they were chatting with the crowd. "Whatever for?"

"Still workin' on that one, I'm afraid," Ten admitted with a wince. "What I do know is that, although that thing up there is still slightly out of phase with normal space-time, it has very nearly finished wriggling its way through into this dimension. Once it pierces the dimensional barrier, there'll be a blinding flash of light. When that happens, every human in this place will begin to panic. That's what this creature wants. Confusion, disorder. So that's what we have to avoid. And the simplest way to do that is to evacuate these people before the creature makes it through. Now in…" he glanced at his scanner device, "...two minutes and four seconds."

"But how do we do that without causing a panic ourselves?" Sarah Jane asked.

Ten pointed to her.

"Good question!"

He smiled, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out what appeared to be a small leather wallet.

"Harry, you're a doctor," he said. "Take this. Tell them the club's closing early due to some minor health issue, I don't know...asbestos or something."

"What is this?" Harry asked, turning the wallet over in his hands.

"Psychic paper," Ten told him, shooting a wink at his surprised and somewhat envious counterpart. "It'll tell them whatever you want them to see. Or whatever they expect to see, so make sure your act's convincing. Now, Rose, Sarah, I want you to…wait…" He glanced around, suddenly anxious. "Where's Rose?"

"Rose? Ah, so that's your companion's name!" the fourth Doctor said with satisfaction.

Ten scowled.

"Yes, all right, her name is Rose. But where's she—"

"I'm here, Doctor!"

Harry's frown returned when he recognized the girl squeezing her way through the crowds as the same one who had mistaken him for the Doctor only minutes before. The look of relief on the stranger's face was enormous, however, and he reached at once for her hand.

"How many times, Rose?" he scolded. "Haven't I warned you about wandering off?"

Rose had the good grace to look slightly sheepish.

"Yeah, I know," she half apologized, "but, you see, Paul was standin' over there by the stage an' he jus' looked so different with his hair all short an' combed back like that, so I—"

"No, tell me later," the Doctor said impatiently. "We don't have the time." Turning back to the group, he said, "Rose, Sarah, I need you to help Harry organize the evacuation. We want a smooth exit—nothing alarming that might make its way into tomorrow's papers. Make it seem like it's the most normal thing in the world. Got it?"

Rose and Sarah shared a dubious look, but they nodded.

"Got it."

"Right, good," the Doctor said. "Now, you." He turned at last to his counterpart. "I'm gonna need your help to keep this thing contained once it breaks through. I want to keep it in phase long enough this time so I can try to communicate with it, ask it a few questions. If we can find out what it's really after—"

"We may find a way to stop it ripping any more holes in the fabric of the universe, halting or perhaps even reversing this temporal anomaly before it grows any larger," Four finished, his deep voice rumbling with an effortless authority the tenth Doctor rather envied.

"Well…yes," Ten sniffed. "Precisely. So!" He clapped his hands together and beamed a smile. "We all know what we're doing?"

Rose, Sarah, and Harry looked at each other, then nodded.

"Good then," Ten said. "Once you get all these people out, I want the three of you to wait for us outside."

"But Doct—" Rose started.

"I mean it," the Doctor insisted with his sharpest glare. "Outside. Now hurry up, all of you. We've got less than two minutes to go."

To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> 1-2) Everything from the paragraph preceding (1) up to (2) was either inspired by or quoted or paraphrased from Terrance Dick's 1975 novelization of the BBC television serial Doctor Who and the Robot. The direct quotes were taken from pgs. 122-123 of that book: Doctor Who and the Giant Robot.


	12. Chapter Ten

Harry sighed as he made his way to the stage, psychic paper in hand. The two girls had hurried off at once to take up their stations at the exit, ready to do their part to ensure a smooth egress. Harry had initially considered going with them, encouraging people to follow him as he went, but then he figured if he was to make this bogus announcement, it only made sense to use the microphones that were already set up. So, politely, and with more than a little flustered awkwardness, he squeezed his way past the Beatles and their little clique of giggling fans to the stage.

Unfortunately, his flustered state made him clumsy, and he tripped over one of the girls' feet just before he made it through. Unable to stop his stumble in time, Harry's shoulder accidentally jarred Pete's drink, earning him a very dirty look and several rather colorful phrases from the dripping drummer.

"So sorry," the surgeon stammered, holding up the psychic paper as though it were an official badge. "I'm just…" he pointed to the stage, "headed up there. Announcement, you know…minor health issue. Nothing to be concerned about, though. I'll just…um…please excuse me…"

But Pete wasn't ready to let him go quite yet. He frowned at the paper, then at Harry. "Is that supposed to be English?" he scoffed.

"Huh?" Harry turned the wallet around so he could see the paper inside. "I say. What in all the…?"

"Oi, Harry!" It was that spectacled stranger's voice, calling impatiently from the other side of the stage. "What's the hold-up? We need to get this party rolling!"

Harry scowled, irritated by the man's presumptuous tone. But his call had distracted Pete's attention. Acting fast, Harry strode across the stage to join the Doctor and the stranger. As Harry approached, it sounded like they were comparing notes on sonic screwdriver settings, upgrades, and frequencies. It was all very technical and important-sounding, but at the moment, Harry really didn't care.

Thrusting the wallet back at the stranger, he snapped, "This 'psychic' paper of yours is no earthly good! Look at this. Nothing but gibberish!"

"What's that?" Furrowing his brow, the young man took the wallet and opened it up. "Now that's not right," he said.

"What is it?" the Doctor asked curiously.

"Well…," the stranger said, holding it up so the larger man could see. "What do you think? Some kind of dialect?"

"It's possible." The Doctor frowned. "Doubtlessly derived from English, at any rate. But such strange spellings…" He shook his head. "I have to say it definitely looks familiar, but I can't think where I've seen it before."

"I know what you mean. But it's so scrambled… I don't know if it's the words or the order, but I can't get it to make any sense."

The spectacled man shoved the wallet back in his pocket and heaved an agitated sigh, glancing back up at the creature, then to Harry. He gave a start.

"Harry! What are you doing still standing here?" he exclaimed. "Go, make your announcement! And be quick—we don't have much longer!"

Harry felt like protesting, but the real urgency behind the man's rude tone made him leave it with just an irritated glare. Striding over to the nearest mike, he switched it on and gave it a few tentative taps.

"Hello? Hello, erm, excuse me, might I have your attention please?"

The noise in the club began to die down, and Harry swallowed as most eyes turned to him—including the wary, curious eyes of the Beatles. He cleared his throat and tried not to look.

"Erm, yes, thank you. Good evening. My name is Dr. Sullivan, and I've been sent by the, um, by the Ministry of Health to inform you of a minor—"

"Ministry of Health!" Pete Best scoffed incredulously from the floor. "If he's with any 'Ministry of Health', I'm Mickey Mouse's dog. Don't listen to him, mates, he's a fraud!"

Harry sputtered. 

"What! I assure you I am not. I've come to warn you—"

But Pete was already scrambling onto the stage with his friends following close behind, laughing and jostling each other as they quickly surrounded the flabbergasted surgeon. From the looks they were giving him, it was clear they thought he had been drinking.

"All right then mate, who put you up to this?" Paul said with a significant glance, giving a slight, reassuring wave to the confused crowd. "Let me guess—it's one of those student japes, am I right?"

"Student…?" Harry shook his head, too flustered to realize Paul was trying to provide him a way out without embarrassing himself further. "Why are people always so quick to blame students when something out of the ordinary happens? I'm not a student, I'm a doctor, and I—"

"Right. If you're a doctor, let's see your credentials, then," John spoke up, his smile sharp with challenge.

"No good, Johnny," Pete shot back. "I've already seen 'em, and they're rubbish." Calling out to the muttering, chuckling crowd, he said, "Pay him no mind, folks! The lad's been at the beer is all!"

The crowd laughed and Harry turned red. At the back of the room, Sarah Jane and Rose shared a pained look.

"Oh, Harry…" Sarah Jane winced. "Do you think we should go up there?"

Rose shook her head. 

"No, that would jus' make it worse. But…wait, I think he might be gettin' through…"

Harry was starting to regain his composure now, his anger at the band's presumptions apparently clearing his head. "No, no, I haven't been drinking! Will you all just look!" he exclaimed, pointing to the sparkly glimmer steadily growing above his head. "Does that look like a prank to you?"

"Huh?" Stu blinked up at the spreading glimmer in surprise. "Say, when did that get there?"

"Yeah, how's he doin' that?" Pete added, looking around the room as if in search of a hidden projector.

George squinted. 

"Well, whatever that is, it's not normal. Sort of like it's there, but not really, if you get my meaning."

"Yes!" Harry nodded, latching onto George's comment like a lifeline. "Yes, exactly! It's not really there—not yet. But, it's on its way through, and you've all got to get out of here, every one of you." He swept his arm out to include the crowd. "Now, before it makes it through the rest of the way!"

John and Paul shared a look of pity.

"Poor bloke," Paul commented, clapping Pete on the shoulder. "You got it wrong, Pete. This fellow's not drunk. He's mental."

Harry's jaw dropped in outraged protest, but before he could speak, the two Doctors stepped into the fray. And neither of them looked happy. While Four moved to stand between Harry and the Beatles, his firm frown forestalling any further argument, Ten quickly grabbed the microphone to address the bemused crowd.

"Hello all! I'm the Doctor. Now, I don't want to alarm you, but I must warn you that in about fifteen seconds this," he pointed to the creature now writhing above his head, "is going to give off a massive, massive burst of light."

The crowd gasped and muttered, but the Doctor held up his hands.

"Now now, it's nothing big, just a short in the wiring causing a minor light refraction. Sort of like that trick they do with concave mirrors where, when you put a coin between them you see a three dimensional projection of that coin just above—"

"Ahem!" Four cleared his throat pointedly. Ten frowned, then winced, realizing he'd let his invented babble carry him away from his purpose.

"Ah, yes, but the why is not important," he added quickly. "What is important is that it's gonna be tricky going trying to fix this problem, so we have to close the club now. Right now, in fact, so if you'll all please file out in an orderly fashion, I'm sure everything will be just—"

At that moment, the air exploded with light, a searing, silent whiteness too intense for eyelids to block out.

"—fine," he finished flatly as the crowd erupted into frantic screams, terrified that they'd been blinded.

Shielding his eyes with his arm, Ten shouted, "All right! All right everyone, don't panic! The light's gonna fade in a moment, and I need you all to—"

But it was no good. The light flicked out as suddenly and violently as it had burst in, leaving everyone dazzled and disoriented. As their vision started to clear, the frightened club goers began a stampede for the exit, pushing, shoving, and screaming. Despite their best efforts to calm the teeming throng, Rose and Sarah Jane were swept out onto the stairwell, where they were forced to press themselves against the wall to avoid getting trampled. Others weren't so lucky. A jam quickly formed at the door, and a number of unfortunates were very badly bruised and scratched in the squeeze.

"So much for an orderly exit!" Sarah Jane shouted over the noise, attempting to shoot Rose a bracing grin. "How do you think the Doctors are getting on in there?"

"I'm more concerned about the Beatles!" Rose shouted back. "Last time the Doctor and me met up with that creature thing, it made a go for 'em. Only the sonic screwdriver held it back. That's why it ended up here—it was runnin' away from us in the future!"

Sarah Jane furrowed her brow, her reporter's instincts tingling with curiosity. 

"If that's true, then— Oh no… Rose, the creature's moving! It's headed right for— John!" she cried. "John look out!"

But even as she screamed, she knew her calls weren't being heard. She could barely hear herself over the crowd.

Fortunately, Sarah wasn't the only one to spot the creature's movement. Acting fast, Harry threw himself at John, knocking the Beatle off his feet and into Paul and Pete. The four of them tumbled out of the thing's path in an awkward pile of ungainly arms and legs—leaving the way open for the creature to alight on Stu.

"NO!" Ten shrieked, brandishing his sonic screwdriver. But he was already too late. He watched through eyes burning with horror as the creature enveloped the young man, evaporating him into a dim, red fog that it immediately absorbed into its shimmering, translucent form.

"But that's…" Four gasped, his features slack with shock.

"Here comes another one!" Harry shouted from the stage floor, pointing to a second glimmer now forming over the heads of the rapidly diminishing crowd. The first creature zipped over to join it, and the pair of them descended onto the heads of the nearest of the scrambling patrons.

"There's two of them now." Four stared. "No, no make that four. Eight! Good grief, they're increasing exponentially!"

"It's the people," Ten stated darkly, his eyes frighteningly intense. "They're converting the people they absorb. The damage they're doing… Unthinkable, unimaginable damage..."

"Well let's not dally about here, then!" Four said, hopping off the stage with Ten close behind. "We've got to stop them!"

John Lennon jumped to his feet.

"Wait—stop!" he shouted. "You two! Just what are these things? What did they do to Stu?"

"They're not going to stop, old man," Harry told him.

"You tell me then!" John demanded. "Stu was only here tonight because of me. So, tell me where he's gone, or so help me—"

"I can't!" Harry protested with a helpless wave of his arms. "I don't know what's happening here myself. Only the Doctor—or, I suppose I should say 'Doctors'…" He sighed and shook his head. Two Doctors. There really were two Doctors. Now there was a pill that was hard to swallow. He'd heard Sarah Jane speak of the Doctor's previous regeneration, how he'd looked and acted an entirely different man. He'd even seen a photograph or two. But to actually meet another of the Time Lord's incarnations in the flesh…

His problems with the idiosyncrasies of time travel and the Doctor's impossible alien biology weren't the issue at the moment, though. Four young men had just lost a close friend and colleague, and it had fallen to Harry to bring the burden home. Even after all his years of medical and military training, this was still the hardest part of his job. Gathering together all the gentleness and sympathy he could muster, he raised his eyes to the remaining members of the shell-shocked band.

"John, all of you, I'm so sorry," he said. "But I'm afraid Stu Sutcliffe is dead."

"He can't be dead," Ten muttered angrily to himself as he and Four worked in tandem to set up a wide-beam resonance field using their sonic screwdrivers. "He's not meant to die here. None of these people are!"

Four frowned. 

"It's a terrible thing, that's true," he said, "but you know as well as I the fluctuating nature of Time. No event is truly fixed. Change the variables, and—"

"But that's just it!" Ten retorted sharply. "These variables can't be changed! Not here, not in this universe! The entire structure is crumbling, and it's only going to get worse, whether we—ah, I've got it!" he exclaimed as the creature nearest his screwdriver's beam suddenly let out a piercing shriek. "Setting 129.56E! I believe that'd be setting 45A for you."

"Got it." Four nodded, making the adjustment on his older model and widening his beam just in time to hold off two creatures that had been aiming to make a dive for the terrified lady to his left. With the club nearly empty by this time, Rose and Sarah Jane were able to quickly grab the petrified patron by the arms and guide her out the door while the Doctors swiftly corralled the swarm of pulsating creatures into the center of the long room.

"All right, old man, we've got them!" Four called to his counterpart over the ear-splitting shrills of their captives. "Now what do you propose we do with them?"

"The psychic paper!" Ten exclaimed, patting his pockets with his free hand while never faltering in his aim. "That gibberish it was picking up earlier must have come from these creatures. If we could just find a way to translate it—"

"Doctor!" Rose's voice interrupted him. She was calling from the stairwell, where she was pointing to the largest of the creatures. "Doctor, they're doin' it again! They're fadin' away!"

Ten clenched his teeth in horrified frustration. 

"No. No, no, damn it no! Not again…!"

"By Rassilon's beard," Four commented, staring in wide-eyed amazement as the cluster of creatures began to stretch and shrink, fading into nothingness like so many translucent accordions. "If I didn't know better, I'd say I was seeing the effects of a highly concentrated, localized zygma beam. But that's impossible!"

"That's what I thought," Ten growled, frantically adjusting his sonic screwdriver in an attempt to keep his quarry from phasing out of reality. "But apparently somebody somewhere has been playing with double nexus particles, despite the danger. And the universal ban."

Four shook his head. "You'd think the unsuccessful fifty-first century experiments would have been enough to dissuade anyone from using zygma energy as a basis for time travel!" he said. "Why, if a zygma beam were ever to be used at full stretch, the whole experiment implodes, trapping its subject in the center!" (1)

Ten's eyes widened behind his glasses, and his mouth dropped open. 

"…implodes…"

Four tilted his head, regarding his counterpart curiously.

"You're on to something," he said. "I know that look. What are you thinking?"

"Damn it!" Ten ignored Four and swore again, watching helplessly as the last traces of the creatures faded away. Looking distractedly around the room, he said, "I've got to get after them. Where's Rose? Rose!"

"Oh no, you're not running out on me, old man," Four said, hopping forward to block his counterpart's path. "You're going to explain all this."

"I am not," Ten retorted firmly. "You already know too much. I'm not going to do anything to make this paradox any worse than it already is."

"You need my help," Four stated bluntly. "You can't possibly hope to stop all those creatures on your own. Not now that they've multiplied their numbers so dramatically."

"I'm not on my own," Ten told him, stepping around him and out the door to grab his rather startled companion by the hand. "I've got Rose. And the TARDIS. And we've really got to get after those creatures. So I'll say ta for the help. It was really a treat to meet me again. Really. And you, Sarah Jane. And Harry as well, although one of you should tell him he really should work on his public speaking skills. Sorry to leave you to clear up the mess but, honestly, we must dash, so bye-bye!"

Four watched with a set jaw as his wiry counterpart sprinted up the stairs with his blonde companion in tow. Sarah Jane made a move to step forward, but the Doctor held up his hand.

"Sarah, get Harry," he said, never taking his eyes from the stairwell.

The young reporter seemed to inflate with relieved satisfaction.

"So we are going after them, then!"

"Yes," the Doctor stated. "There's far more to this than he's telling. What he said before about variables…" He shook his curly head, clearly frustrated. "Something's off. Something fundamental. And I won't be able to rest until I know exactly what it is."

*******

"So, Doctor, we've done it again," Rose commented as she followed the desperately anxious Time Lord around and around the TARDIS control console. "Run out on the Beatles without even the most basic sort of explanation. And you still haven't told me what those creatures were doin' in that club! What was that you were sayin' about sigma rays?"

"Zygma beams," the Doctor corrected distractedly, pounding a stubborn button with his fist. "Ow! OK, that hurt. But really, Rose, I don't have time to explain everything right now. Can't you see I'm calibrating?"

Rose huffed. 

"I still think you should have taken that other you up on his offer to help," she told him, flopping herself down on the battered old seat before she got too dizzy.

"And exacerbate an already dangerous paradox?" The Doctor shook his head. "I don't think so."

"But he's a Time Lord," Rose pointed out. "Isn't there a way for you and him to get around all that paradox stuff somehow? I mean, it's not like you're the same person. No, I mean you are, but you look so completely different…No, that's not comin' out right..." 

She trailed off, no longer sure where she was going with that train of thought.

The Doctor sighed, closing his eyes briefly before reaching out with his sonic screwdriver to make another readjustment.

"You're right," he said. "It is different with Time Lords. If circumstances demand it, I can call on another of my incarnations for help, but only in the most dire of emergencies. And even then it's dangerous. In a situation like this, though, with the entire universe literally hanging in the balance, I'd really rather not risk it."

Rose blinked, sitting a bit straighter. 

"Wait—the entire universe? Really? It's that bad?"

"Oh, Rose…"

The Doctor looked at her then, and his eyes were so empty. An awful chill went down her spine. The Doctor was scared. He was terrified and he didn't know what to do and that realization shook Rose to her core.

"He's dead, Rose. Stu Sutcliffe is dead before his time, along with all those people. History has been rewritten, and the changes are splintering the very essence of the universe. If we can't find a way to stop those creatures, if we can't fix this, everything will collapse. I can feel it, Rose. It's already started. Entropy is accelerating faster than I can track it. So, yeah. It really is that bad."

Rose pursed her lips. Slowly, she stood up and walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his tense, slender form. The Time Lord sighed into her hair and returned the hug, holding her close as his eyes slipped shut and his tightly closed expression melted into something far more tender.

And then they heard the sound.

It was the sound of the universe. Wheezing, whirring, thrumming…

A blue box was taking shape. It was the Doctor's TARDIS. And it was materializing inside the control room.

To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference:
> 
> 1) Reference from the Tom Baker episode The Talons of Weng-Chiang. All the zygma beam/zygma energy technobabble in this story is derived from that episode.


	13. Chapter Eleven

Long ago, in a galaxy very far away, there was a planet called Logopolis. It's not there now, and if anyone inquired they'd be told it never was there, except in myth. But it was present once, and when it was it was home to an extremely unique, tragically underrated, and vitally important race of people.

The Logopolitans of Logopolis were revered mathematicians of the highest and purest order. In appearance and manner, they were Platonian—that is, their dress and outlook was reminiscent of the ancient Greek philosopher Plato. They lived in caves, wore simple robes and sandals, and walked about with far-away eyes, as though they and they alone could see that solid matter was merely an illusion, a shadow of the deeper reality which was always hiding just beyond the light. And in truth, their vision was adapted to a brightness so rich and pure it transcended the material world, allowing them to view the intricately woven threads of reality from a higher plane, where all matter was spun at will out of filaments derived from perfect mathematics.

The Logopolitans were best known for practicing a deeply complicated branch of mathematics known as block transfer computation. Basically, block transfer computation grew from the premise that structure is the essence of matter and that the essence of structure is mathematics.

Logically, then–for the Logopolitans were always logical in their thinking–it followed that with the right calculations, mathematics could be used to provide the structure necessary to create matter. In other words, through their discovery of block transfer computation, the Logopolitan mathemagicians had essentially found their own Rosetta Stone: the decryption key which allowed them to unlock the language of the universe.

They called this key the Skasis Paradigm, and with this paradigm the fabric of reality itself, of infinity and nothingness, of time and space and matter, life and death, entropy and order–it could all be modeled mathematically. And because mathematics is the essence of structure, whatever they modeled would take physical form. The power of creation was theirs to control.

Or, more precisely, to protect.

The Logopolitans were a logical, contemplative race. Greed, ambition, profit, envy, all were foreign concepts to them. The Logopolitans worked collectively, each with a specific unquestioned function. Their minds were linked through multiple, intricate, powerful telepathic bonds, making each individual, in a very real sense, a single component of a vast computer–quite possibly the most powerful computer ever to exist in any reality, anywhere. The bonds were forged of imagination and analytical skill and, although Logopolitans rarely spoke aloud or even left their solitary caves, none were ever lonely.

Logopolis was a specially designed and terraformed world. To someone observing from space, it rather resembled a sophisticated spherical circuit board writ on a planetary scale, with the cave-like dwellings of the individual Logopolitans arranged on the surface like integrated circuits, or microprocessor chips. Each cluster of dwellings was connected to other clusters in a vast, elaborate network very few outsiders could fathom. This included outsiders as mathematically advanced as the Time Lords of Gallifrey.

The creation of Logopolis was necessary if the Logopolitans hoped to harness and control their newfound power with precision. The planet was constructed entirely through the power of pure mathematical thought, according to the exacting specifications of the Logopolitans' leader, the Monitor. Like the monitor of a computer, the Monitor of Logopolis was the Logopolitans' living point of interface: the face they presented to the outside universe. Through him, the pure computation of the Logopolitans could be related to other, less mathematically-minded beings.

It was the Monitor's job to speak to other species in their own languages, to boil down the complicated mathematical equations for alien minds to understand. And even then, many essentials were unavoidably lost in translation. For some concepts, there simply are no words. And for that reason, despite the Monitor's best efforts, misunderstandings were not only frequent, they were inevitable.

The Time Lords understood the basic tenets of Logopolitan mathematics. They adapted the more elementary proofs and theories to suit their own designs, creating dimensionally transcendental structures that were larger on the inside than the outside. At least a passing acquaintance with block transfer computation was essential for any Gallifreyan engineer, physicist, or mathematician who passed through the Academy, and a few advanced students sometimes opted to study abroad on Logopolis for a decade or so as apprentices to the Logopolitan Monitor, assisting him with his work.

Yet because most Time Lords did not understand Logopolis, they quickly came to view the planet, rather derogatorily, as being essentially a gigantic garage. Logopolis was the place they brought their time capsules whenever they needed a check up, minor or major repairs, or even a complete upgrade. The delicate adjustments that would take a team of Gallifreyan engineers several weeks to implement took only a matter of moments on Logopolis, where the power of collective computational thought instantly, even magically, enacted the needed changes.

But Logopolis was far more than a highly advanced auto shop, just as the capsules they repaired were far more than highly advanced autos. The Logopolitans were guardians of a secret, a secret so vast and so terrible that a unanimous decision had long ago been made to keep it confined to Logopolis. For the good of the universe, for the good of reality, no outsider was ever to know the truth hidden within the living circuits and systems of the Logopolitan network, or the true purpose behind the planet's creation. Not even their Time Lord allies.

The Doctor had always been wary of block transfer computation. The implications of such powerful formulae were simply staggering to say the least and entirely mind-blowing at best. It was with good reason that the Skasis Paradigm was known as the God Maker. To allow an individual mind such complete control over reality could only lead to madness.

The Logopolitans had safety in numbers, and in their innocence of the baser emotions that plagued the less computational races of the universe. But the innocence that protected them was also their greatest vulnerability. The Logopolitans were a sheltered, trusting people, so focused on the higher reality that they couldn't see the shadows for the light. So, when the Master targeted Logopolis as the latest stepping stone on his climb towards universal domination, the cave-dwelling mathematicians were caught completely by surprise.

The Master, like the Doctor, was a renegade Time Lord—brilliant, yet unconventional, even radical, in his thinking. Too radical ever to find fulfillment amidst the conservative, stoic society of Gallifrey. The two misfit Time Lords had once been friends, schoolmates, but as they grew they'd discovered that in ambition and outlook they were destined to exist as polar opposites. The Master desired power, respect, adulation. The Doctor required adventure, excitement, and trusting, faithful companions to keep him fighting, but his highest aim was always understanding. He traveled the universe to learn, to grow, to protect. But the Master traveled for gain, for spite, and for conquest, and he would never be satisfied until the entire universe had been subjugated to his will, forced to obey their Master.

It was right near the end of his fourth life when the Doctor came to Logopolis. He'd come with the aim of finally fixing his notoriously faulty chameleon circuit. He'd long been reluctant to alter his ship's comfortably familiar police box exterior, but with the Master at large and on the move, he knew it would be best if his old TARDIS could appear less distinctive, at least for a while.

Unfortunately, the Master had tagged along on the Doctor's journey and, while the Logopolitans turned their considerable mental abilities to the Doctor's problem, the Master had taken advantage of their distraction to further his own plans. He'd hatched the brilliantly simple idea that, if he could just gain access to the control center of Logopolis, he could force the Logopolitan Monitor to use the Skasis Paradigm according to his dictation, harnessing the vast computational resources of Logopolis to reshape the universe to fit his design. The Master would become an instant god, and the Doctor would be forced to watch, helpless and beaten, as the universe and all its inhabitants became as clay in his hands, their very existence subject to the Master's capricious whims.

The Master had only intended to create a minor stir, a tiny ripple of chaos to allow him the chance to slip in unnoticed and snatch the power of Logopolis for himself. He'd used his patented shrink ray to compress several Logopolitans to death—only a few, here and there, just enough to skew their calculations for the Doctor's repairs.

But like most Time Lords, the Master did not have a full understanding of the workings of Logopolis. For all his arrogant expectations of an easy victory, the brilliant Time Lord had greatly underestimated his foes. They weren't simply a repair service for faulty time capsules. The programs they ran were far, far more vital.

Logopolis was actually responsible for holding up the very structure of the universe. By killing so many of its living components, the Master had disrupted the workings of the great Logopolitan computer, corrupting its programs forever. Without the programs to sustain it, reality at once began to crumble, the order the Logopolitans had artificially imposed on the universe instantly fading into entropy. For the truth was, the universe had long ago reached the point of collapse. That was the Logopolitans' great secret. The universe was teetering on the brink of existence. It was only the constant efforts of the Logopolitans, working tirelessly year in and year out, that had kept it from destruction. And now they were fading away, all of them, vanishing into nothingness, swallowed by the forces they had struggled to keep at bay for so long.

So many planets had died that day, so many stars. So many peoples erased from existence by the spreading tendrils of entropy.

There was only one way to stop the spread and preserve what was left. Before their sudden destruction, the Logopolitans had been experimenting with mechanical methods to help ease their secret burden. One of these had been a massive satellite dish, which the Logopolitans used to open voids to draw in energy from alternate realities. This energy was then converted and used to sustain the structure of their own collapsed universe, allowing it to continue as it had been, to keep expanding and evolving. The Fourth Doctor gave his life to ensure such a void was opened safely, halting—at least temporarily—the entropy that had threatened to swallow the universe. Without the aid of Logopolis, however, there was no way to repair the damage that had already been done. The planets, stars, and lives that had been extinguished could never be restored.

For a long time, the Doctor tried not to think about that terrible day on Logopolis. He tried not to think of the fragility of the universe, or of the void he had opened to sustain its delicate structure. It was all too much, and the implications made his head hurt.

And then came the Time War. Daleks versus Time Lords, the ultimate battle for survival. When a battlefield encompasses the fourth dimension, the whole of reality hangs in the balance. Nothing can be trusted when the established timeline is considered fair game by an enemy intent on exterminating all life, save for its own.

Second by shifting second, facts became fiction became facts. Two friends beat down a Dalek force before one turned around to discover the other never existed and the Daleks were still coming. The design of the Bayeux tapestry shifted to show King Harold being shot in the thigh, not the eye. Wellington met his Waterloo up close when he was knocked out of his boots by a triumphant Napoleonic charge. Darwin contracted tuberculosis on his Galapagos voyage. Mendel's peas shriveled in a blight. General Lee listened to Longstreet and retreated from Gettysburg before the fighting broke out.

The universe was rippling, shivering, convulsing by the moment. Timelines were forming and fading and branching and splitting faster than even a Time Lord could track. Dewey defeated Truman. The Japanese decided it just wouldn't be sporting to bomb Pearl Harbor on a Sunday. The Space Race was won by Lithuania. W.G. Grace was revealed to be a woman in disguise. Jimmy Cagney never learned to dance. Rowan Atkinson was the first man on the moon, beating the Apollo team of Wallace and Gromit by a good three years.

Amidst such fluctuating chaos, it was only a matter of time before the Doctor's hasty patch job tore a seam.

And so, terribly, vividly aware that all of reality was hanging by a rapidly fraying string, the Doctor did what he did best. He drew on experience, thought on his feet, and bent more than a few rules well near to breaking point. Then, at the moment it seemed all was lost, he closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and pressed the button he'd ironically labeled Restart.

Gallifrey burned. The TARDIS burned. The Doctor burned and the pain was so bright, so blindingly bright...

But the universe… The universe carried on…

To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References include the Doctor Who episodes Logopolis and School Reunion and several hearty doses of imaginative extrapolation.


	14. Chapter Twelve

The wheezing rumble of the TARDIS's engines faded away, leaving the fully materialized police box standing impossibly just beside the ramp leading up to the control console.

 

Leaving Rose by the chair, the Doctor jumped off the ramp to land directly before the police box doors, his expression contorted and his eyes wide, absolutely livid.

"What!" he exclaimed, physically shaking with fury and sheer disbelief. "How– What!!!"

"Doctor," Rose spoke up hesitantly. "Is that–?"

"He's mad," the Doctor stated, just staring at the TARDIS. "Oh he's just… Completely…completely bonkers. I never believed it before, always found ways to rationalize, but this–this–!" His nostrils flared and his expression hardened, his dark eyes burning with an icy fire.

"DOCTOR!" he roared, pounding savagely on the already battered-looking blue door. "DOCTOR, I WANT YOU OUT HERE! RIGHT NOW!"

There was a brief pause, and the door to the blue box opened. Ten stepped back as the fourth Doctor strode out with his hands in the pockets of his rumpled old coat, his eyebrows quirked in bemusement.

"Now now, old man," he said with his best patronizing smile, "don't get so excited. At your age, you'll give yourself a double heart attack, and then where would we be?"

"Excited!" Ten exclaimed, his freckled face growing dangerously red. "You call this excited? Do you have any–ANY–idea what you've just done? Forget a paradox, this is…this is catastrophe! A dimensional anomaly to top the cake! To top the cake that topped the cake! A TARDIS within a TARDIS–the same TARDIS–" He tore his hands wildly through his hair, horrified by the implications. "If we haven't already fallen victim to infinite regression, we very soon shall! We'll be trapped in here forever, all of us, locked in a spatial paradox while the universe outside rips itself to bits!"

"What seriously?" Rose stared wide-eyed from the control level above.

"Naw, it's not as bad as all that," the fourth Doctor assured her with a sniff, flipping the fringed ends of his scarf over his shoulder. "Mind you, it might be if your friend and I were much closer in time. But as things are…" He shot his glowering counterpart a cold look.

"You underestimate yourself, Doctor," he said. "That is to say, you underestimate me. Do you really think I would risk the universe just to catch you up?"

"Then what are you doing here?" Ten demanded. "And why did you come in this," he sputtered, waving his arm at the TARDIS, "this extraordinary manner?"

Four leaned back against the railing, his floppy fedora shadowing his face. "I've scanned your ship. My landing here is no more or less dangerous than you and I shaking hands. A bit dodgy, perhaps, but nothing truly reality-threatening. Just look around you," he said, making a sweeping gesture with his arms as he spun slowly in place, drinking in their dimly glowing surroundings. "This is no more my TARDIS than this," he indicated himself, "is your body."

Rose looked lost. "What d'you mean?" she asked. "Are you sayin' the TARDIS can regenerate?"

"Not exactly/In a manner of speaking," the Doctors chorused, then glared at each other.

"Don't you tell her that," Ten snapped. "The TARDIS doesn't regenerate, Rose."

"But she can regrow and reshape her rooms in the event of damage," Four retorted firmly. "And judging from the look of this room, the old girl has seen an awful lot of damage. Good grief, man, what did you do to her? Take her through a time storm? She never needed to enact such radical alterations under my watch. Still…" He frowned slightly at the coral-like columns that branched from floor to ceiling, striding over to examine them more closely, "I must say it's good to see the old thing's shown some imagination for once." Resting a hand against one of the columns, his expression melted into a tender smile, and he stroked the column lightly. "Yes, very original. Quite artistic, really." His smile broadened. "Always knew she had it in her."

The TARDIS's lights pulsed warmly. Ten bristled, prompting Rose to come up beside him with a supportive hand on his arm. Rather than calming him, though, his expression grew only more alarming when his counterpart called back to his own TARDIS, "I say, Sarah! Harry! Come on out here and have a look at this!"

"Nooo, no!" Ten shook his head, moving quickly to block his former companions from taking more than a few awkward steps into his control room. "No, this has gone quite far enough, and I–"

"I'm afraid I must contradict you, there," Four replied, shooting his agitated elder self a sharp look. "I don't think it's even scratched the surface. You see, I–that is, we–" he corrected, nodding an inclusive smile towards Sarah, Harry, and Rose. "We still have a great many questions we'd like answered. Isn't that right, my dear?"

Rose gave a slight start when she realized he was addressing her. "Well, I…"

"Just as I suspected." Four nodded definitively, shifting his gaze back to Ten. "He's even been keeping you in the dark. And therefore, my first question is: what for? What is it about those pulsing pan-dimensional jellyfish that's got you so hung up you can't even tell your lovely associate what's really going on?"

Rose and Sarah's eyebrows shot up, but the Doctors were too involved in their glaring match to take any notice. Ten was the first to look away, his dark eyes turning first to Harry, then Sarah, then to Rose, who gave a very slight, encouraging nod. Ten frowned back, looking thoroughly harassed, but he stomped up the ramp and punched a few buttons on the control console. Instantly, the TARDIS gave a violent jerk, and the throbbing time column settled to a low hum.

"There," the Doctor said, crossing his arms–rather sulkily, Rose thought. "We've stopped."

"Stopped?" Harry repeated in confusion. "But where?"

"We're in the Vortex, Harry," Four explained, his eyes never leaving the other Time Lord. "Floating outside of normal space-time."

Harry nodded. "Oh, right. Well, that's cleared that up." Sarah gave him a nudge, and he nudged her back. Rose had to look away. Watching Harry and Sarah together sharply reminded her of how she and Mickey had been before he'd decided to leave them and track Cybermen on that parallel Earth. Turning away from the two friends, she tried to focus instead on what the Doctors were saying, but Ten was still busy checking over some readings on his monitor.

"Pausing here should buy us some time, but we still don't have very long," he stated after a moment. "At the rate entropy has been increasing since these creatures appeared, if we stay too long there might not be a universe left for us to return to."

"What, just because those creatures have been punching a few holes between dimensions?" Four frowned. "Surely the universe is not as fragile as all that."

"Oh, I'm afraid it is," Ten told him. "And even more so since the War."

"War?" Four now looked agitated, and increasingly annoyed. "War? What war? What are you talking about?"

Ten looked up then, his expression as tight and hard as a mask. "This is exactly why you shouldn't be here," he snapped. "I don't have time to fill you in on three centuries worth of details! Besides, it's too dangerous. You already know too much."

Four bristled. "Don't give me that sanctimonious–wait. Three centuries?" He paused, looking his elder self up and down. "And you're on, what? Your seventh incarnation? Eighth?"

"Tenth."

Four goggled. "Tenth!" he repeated. "Of all the careless– You mean to say you've regenerated six times in only three hundred years?"

Ten shifted defensively. "Well, it's actually closer to–"

"Oh, never mind." Four scowled, stomping up the floor grating to stand before him toe to toe, clearly aiming to use his slightly greater height to better advantage. "I don't care how old you are, or how young you look. If you're right about those creatures, then the universe I know is falling apart, fading away as if it had never been. You can't fix that on your own, no Time Lord could. But factor in me and my TARDIS, and we might stand a chance of reversing the effects–at least temporarily. Listen, I have an idea," he said, clamping a sudden, conspiratorial hand on his counterpart's arm. "Do you remember those block transfer exercises we had to do at school?"

But the elder Time Lord was shaking his head. "It's too late for that."

"Oh? But why? I think it could be a brilliant idea, if it works."

"It did work," Ten told him, busying himself with the console so he wouldn't have to face the younger man directly. "And that's just the issue. By breaking through the dimensional barriers, those creatures have upset the balance I instated at the end of the War. We can't use block transfer computation to repair the damage unless we can be certain those things won't be drilling any more holes in our equations."

Four sighed and crossed his arms, a thoughtful frown creasing his expressive face. "What I don't understand is why we haven't heard anything from the Council about all this," he said. Ten froze in place, his eyes wide and his expression choked, but Four carried on, oblivious to the effect his musings were having on his counterpart. "In a case this extreme, you'd think even that sedentary lot would have a thing or three to say on the matter. If not on the entropy–it would be just like them to try to hush it up–then at least on our meeting, hm? Yes, I'd certainly have expected a disapproving message by now. Unless…" His frown deepened. "I say, old man, you don't think they've been affected by all this? It's happened before, if you recall, during my last incarnation. Omega was draining power from the Eye of Harmony. Threw the Time Lords into a regular frazzle (1). Perhaps we should make a stop on Gallif–"

"We can't."

Ten's voice was so soft, Four wasn't sure he'd heard him right. "What?"

"We can't," Ten repeated, more forcefully this time, and Four was stunned to see there were tears shining in the older man's eyes.

"My dear old chap," he said, his face full of concern. "Whatever is the matter?"

But Ten just swallowed and strode to the opposite side of the console, flipping switches and turning knobs as he went. "Get out of here," he said flatly. "Go back to your TARDIS. Take Sarah and Harry and just leave. You can't help me."

"Now look here–"

"I mean it." Ten looked up then, his dark eyes so fierce Four actually took a step back. "Your presence is only making things harder for me. You have no understanding of the situation. If you stay, you'll just be in the way."

"Oh really?" Four straightened angrily. "If I am in the dark, it's only because you refuse to fill me in. What do you think you're protecting with all this defensive side-stepping, hm? The timeline? Meaningless. Time is immaterial without a universe to clock."

Ten opened his mouth to protest, but Four spoke right over him. "If you ask me," he rumbled in his firmest tone, "we met like this for a reason. The only way to save the timeline now is for us to move forward together. We must be of one mind if we are to succeed. And that means you have to tell me everything. Right now."

Ten blinked. "You mean…"

"That's right," Four said, holding out his hand. "Contact."

Ten shook his head. "No, I–I can't. You don't know what you're asking!"

"Contact!" Four repeated, more firmly this time. Rose couldn't keep silent any longer.

"Doctor, what's goin' on?" she called out anxiously.

Ten glanced at her, looking somewhat torn. "The Doctor here wants to link minds," he said. "But I don't–"

"It's the quickest way to bring us all up to speed," Four insisted, his hand still outstretched. "You said yourself we're running out of time."

Ten still looked hesitant, but Four looked him straight in the eye. "You need me," he said.

Ten hesitated a moment longer, then sighed and nodded. Touching Four's fingertips with his own, he brought his other hand up to the taller man's temple, looking deep into his round, blue eyes.

"You're certain?" he asked.

"Just get on with it," Four retorted. "Contact."

"Contact."

"It's rather like the Vulcan mind-meld, isn't it?" Sarah Jane observed from below, clearly fascinated.

Rose smirked.

"Very Spock," she agreed, then shook her head with a slight sigh. "But my Doctor's right. Your Doctor has no idea what he's in for."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference:
> 
> (1) Reference to the Jon Pertwee/Patrick Troughton/William Hartnell episode The Three Doctors.


	15. Chapter Thirteen

Rose leaned heavily against the side of the fourth Doctor's TARDIS.

"How long d'you reckon they plan to stay like that?" she asked, gesturing to the two Doctors. They were standing beside the center console with their eyes closed and their fingers still touching. "It's already been, what, ten, twelve minutes?"

Harry shook his head apologetically with a look that read, "Don't ask me."

Sarah Jane sighed, then turned to Rose with a slight, curious smile.

"So, Rose," she said. "Tell me. How long's it been? Since you started traveling with," she pointed her thumb at Ten, "him?"

Rose smirked.

"Him?" she repeated in the same teasing tone. "Jus' a few months. But the Doctor and I've been travelin' together for over a year. He blew up my job, you see, so I started taggin' after him, askin' questions an' that. Then I saved his life and he asked me along. Haven't looked back since. What about you?"

Sarah Jane opened her mouth, but Harry interrupted her before she could speak.

"No, wait…stop," he said. "That doesn't make sense."

"What? That he blew up my job?" Rose smiled. "Nah, tha's jus' like standard operatin' procedure with 'im."

Sarah Jane stifled a snicker with her hand. "Oh, that is bad," she said. But Harry was frowning.

"No, what you said before. You said you've been traveling with the Doctor for only a few months, but then you said it's been over a year. Now I admit I'm rather new to all this mucking about in space and time, but even with a time machine, you can't have it both ways. It's just common sense."

 

Rose and Sarah shared a look and burst out laughing. Harry seemed somewhat hurt. Rose's laughter faded to sympathy.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said. "It's jus'… Look, how much do you know about the Doctor? Has he ever mentioned stuff like, well… Regeneration, for instance?"

"Well, of course. I'm only here because I was called in by the Brigadier to help the Doctor through his regeneration sickness…oh!" Harry said, finally catching on. "You're saying the Doctor—that is, your Doctor— Sorry, I…I mean to say your version of the Doctor, I certainly don't mean to imply that you…"

"What the eloquent Dr. Sullivan is trying to say," Sarah Jane interrupted the flustered surgeon, "is that our Doctor only recently regenerated as well."

"Oh, what happened?" Rose asked.

Sarah Jane lowered her eyes.

"It was radiation poisoning," she said quietly. "He was quite different before. All frills and elegance and velvet capes. He had white hair then, not brown. And the change wasn't just in looks either; he acts quite a bit younger now as well. This new personality has taken quite a bit of getting used to, for everyone. But," she leaned in conspiratorially, "since he got us out of that scrap with the Cybermen, I think I'm starting to prefer it" (1). She smiled. "What about your Doctor? How did he…" she trailed off, waiting for Rose to pick up the thread.

"Hm? Oh, it was radiation poisoning too. Sort of. Maybe. I'm not really sure what happened," she admitted. "See, there were these Daleks from the future that had been controllin' the Earth with a satellite—you've met the Daleks, haven't you?"

"Oh, yes." Sarah Jane shuddered. "I've encountered them twice now. Awful things. Living, bubbling lumps of hate. That's what the Doctor called them" (2).

"An' he's right, too," Rose said. "Anyway, the Doctor planned to stop them with these, um, Delta waves, I think it was. He tried to send me home in the TARDIS, but I made her take me back and then…"

She shrugged, struggling to hide how uncomfortable this was making her.

"It all gets a bit fuzzy after that. Next thing I knew, he was explodin' with light and then, there he was. The new new Doctor. New teeth, new hair, new everything" (3).

Sarah Jane nodded. "Yes, that's it exactly," she said. "It is like he's been renewed. He's so full of energy now, and smiles. All teeth and hair. He used to be so much more reserved."

"Mine too!" Rose grinned.

"I say," Harry broke into their commiserations. "It seems to me you two girls have had quite the similar experience. As for me, I've only traveled with one version of the Doctor—apart from this current adventure—and, I must say, one is quite enough."

"Oh, Harry." Sarah gave him a nudge. "Don't mind him, Rose. He only acts like an old stick in the mud. It's all that military training, you see."

Harry straightened, outwardly affronted, but his eyes twinkled with humor when he glanced at Rose. She smiled and turned back to Sarah Jane.

"So how did you meet the Doctor?" she asked curiously.

Sarah looked a little embarrassed, but that expression quickly faded to a rather wry smile.

"Well," she said, "it was just about…hm, two years ago now. I'm a journalist, you see, and I'd gotten wind of this secret research center where top scientists were being held in 'protective custody' in response to the mysterious disappearance of several of their colleagues. I figured if I could uncover the truth behind these disappearances, it would prove to my editor that I had what it took to cover the big stories—the real front page stuff. So I posed as my aunt—Aunt Lavinia is a noted virologist—and bluffed my way past the UNIT troops that had been assigned to guard the scientists. My little deception would have worked, too, except the Doctor had no sooner set eyes on me than he'd seen right through me. As it turned out, he was investigating the vanishing scientists too. He tried to put me off, but I snuck into his TARDIS and found myself in twelfth century Wessex! After that, he couldn't get rid of me" (4).

Rose laughed.

"Well, at least you have a good job waitin' for you when you get back," she said, and made a face. "I used to work in a shop."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Sarah Jane asserted. "But I don't want to go back. Not for a good long time yet. There's so much out there, so much to see— You understand, Rose, I can tell."

Rose nodded, her expression suddenly intense.

"If I have my way, I'm gonna be travelin' with the Doctor for the rest of my life," she said. "I don't ever want to go back to how things were without him."

"I wouldn't mind it," Harry commented, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes fixed on the unmoving Time Lords above. "Airless space stations, metal men, giant insects, potato-faced Sontarans, desperate wars on alien planets…it's all a bit much for me. Now, I'm not saying I'm sorry I came," he said firmly in response to the looks he was getting from the girls. "I wouldn't have traded this trip for the world—any world. But I like my job and I like my world and I shan't be sorry to get back there. If we survive this entropy thing—and if the Doctor ever manages to land us in the correct time and place—I intend to stay behind, on Earth."

Sarah Jane tilted her head. "Harry, you've never mentioned this before."

"Yes, well, it's been building for a while," he admitted. "I'm a doctor, Sarah. A medical doctor and an officer in Her Majesty's Navy. I have people back on Earth who need me. Besides," he straightened, "I've been shirking off duty long enough."

"I'd hardly call what we've been doing 'shirking,'" Sarah Jane protested. "We're dealing with a crisis on a universal scale, here. Isn't that grand enough for you?"

"Rather too grand, old girl, and I think that's the point."

Sarah Jane opened her mouth to retort, but Rose shook her head, seeming to understand where Harry was coming from.

"What you jus' said, it sort of reminds me of my friend Mickey," she told him. "He came travelin' with us for a while, but he never really got used to it."

"Where is he now?" Harry asked.

Rose blinked and shifted her gaze uncomfortably.

"Oh, he's off. Somewhere. Fightin' Cybermen, defendin' the Earth—anyway," she said, forcing a topic change with an overbright smile as she gestured to the two Doctors. "They don't seem to be goin' anywhere, so what d'you say? Anyone fancy a tour?"

"A tour?" Sarah Jane frowned.

"Yeah, of the TARDIS."

Rose flashed a wicked smile, the tip of her tongue pressed against her teeth and her eyebrows quirked.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

Sarah Jane laughed.

"Sure, why not," she said. "I must admit, I've been dying to see what other changes the ol' Doc has made over the past—has it really been three hundred years?"

Rose shrugged.

"He'd know better than me. Where I come from, it's 2006."

Sarah Jane's eyes bulged.

"2006! My goodness…I'd be an old lady by then!"

Rose ducked her head quickly to hide a knowing smirk.

"Not so old," she said, and cleared her throat. "You comin' then?"

"Definitely," Sarah said. "And you, Harry?"

"No." The surgeon shook his curly head. "You girls go ahead. Someone's got to stay here and keep an eye on the Doctors."

Sarah nodded with a tight little smile. "Right, then."

"I'll call at once if there's any change."

"Good, good." She smiled. "Very good plan. See you in a few, then. Rose?"

"'S this way," Rose said, leading the way out of the control room. "Which room would you like to see first?"

"Oh, I'd have to say the arboretum. And then the swimming pool—does he still have that enormous swimming pool….?"

Harry listened as their voices faded away in the distance, then turned back to face the Doctors with a sigh.

"I don't know how they can be so calm," he spoke out loud, aiming his words at the TARDIS ceiling, but knowing deep down he was talking to himself. "I can barely breathe. I honestly can't decide what's worse. Knowing the universe is about to end, or knowing it's truly up to us to save it. To have that kind of responsibility hanging over you…the sheer scope of it... It is, as the Doctor would say, boggling."

He shook his head.

"The people back home don't know how good they have it. Whether we make it or not, they'll never know either way. But me…"

Harry sighed again and looked down at his hands, his fingers.

"As a surgeon, I can cut into a body and hopefully save a life," he said. "Yet, no matter how much I admire the Doctor, I'm finding it hard to believe that even a Time Lord could operate on the universe. Just the scale...it's almost too great to imagine." He shook his head with an anxious sort of laugh. "Then again, I've been so far out of my depth since I stepped aboard this TARDIS, I'm not sure what's possible anymore."

He curled his fingers closed and glanced up at the Doctors, his eyes dark with apprehension.

"One thing I am sure of, though," he said, "is that I do hope they snap out of this soon."

*******

The room was completely dark and completely, completely silent. At least, he thought it was a room. It could have been a cavern or even empty space, but it felt too…flat for that. Then again, such pitch darkness could make infinity feel confined. There was only one way to really know.

"Hello!" he called, noting that his voice did not echo. Probably not a cavern, then. "Hello, is there anyone out there!"

"Yes, there's me, remember?" came a rather annoyed voice from beside him. "And I'd thank you not to bellow in my ear."

Four took a startled step back.

"Ah," he said, recovering quickly. "So, this is your mind, then?" The scarfed Time Lord turned a slow circle, taking in the complete lack of…anything. "A bit bleak," he commented.

"This little excursion is on a strictly need to know basis," Ten retorted. Four could hear the frown in his voice even though his expression was invisible. "You know I can't allow you to shuffle through my memories willy-nilly. On this trip, I choose what we see and where we go."

"And this is the psychic buffer you've chosen, hm?" Four said, unimpressed. "Now me, I would have picked something with a bit more color. An image of Irrojana VI's rings perhaps, or the glowing crystal trees of Yggiz Tsudrats."

Even through the blackness, Ten's impatience was becoming palpable.

"I'm sure you would," he said coldly. "But this isn't meant to be a holiday. There's a reason I'm starting here. In the dark."

Four began to retort, but then he stopped himself, his eyes widening slightly with realization.

"Oh, I get it," he said. "This nothingness is supposed to be a metaphor, is that it? Of what could happen if we don't stop those creatures in time?"

"No," Ten said.

"No?"

"No," Ten repeated. "This void is very real. And the silence even more so."

Four paused, an odd chill creeping up his spine as his counterpart's meaning began to penetrate. A void, he'd called it, and a void it was. This wasn't just emptiness...it was absence. Vast, yawning, aching... There was something missing here, something so fundamental he couldn't even sense it. Until--

"No," he gasped, physically staggering with the impact of understanding. "No, it can't be. It can't."

Ten didn't respond. Four reached out into the darkness, grabbing for the other Time Lord's arm, but Ten shrugged him off.

"It's true," he said. "This...this vacuum is all that's left of my psychic bond with the Time Lords."

"But that's impossible," Four proclaimed, pacing angrily through the emptiness. "I've broken the link before–back when I first left Gallifrey, and again when the Time Lords banished me to Earth. Yet even then, I could feel them…tucked away at the back of my mind. They've always been there. Always!"

"Not anymore," Ten stated flatly, his voice tired and ancient, empty of emotion. "They're gone, Doctor. All of them. Everywhere. They've been erased from Time."

The ends of Four's scarf had become bunched in his hands, so he threw them over his shoulder and stormed back to his waiting counterpart.

"But... But how!" he demanded, his horrified anger crackling through the darkness. "What have you done? What did you do!"

"There was a Time War, Doctor," the elder Time Lord said coldly, the steel behind his voice even more chilling than his counterpart's outrage. "The last great Time War. The Daleks attacked and the Time Lords fought back, with the universe caught in the cross-fire. Billions of species, thousands of worlds were wiped out, victims of shifting probability. The Ice Warriors, the Gelth, the Sontarans, the entire Rutan Host... All of them and more, gone in the blink of an eye. Our planet, Doctor, and all our people, were burnt to a cinder. And it is all your fault."

Four blinked.

"My fault?" he repeated incredulously. "You mean me as in…" He gestured invisibly to himself.

"You heard me!" his counterpart snapped, stalking closer until their toes were practically touching. Four glared, the blinding darkness grating on his nerves nearly as much as the accusation.

"Preposterous!" he declared.

"Right, fine, you're right." Ten's voice dripped with sarcasm. "The Time War broke out centuries after your time, there's no way any actions you took could possibly have had any impact. Time is just a flat, straight line, after all, a choice made in the past could never influence the future."

"Why are you being like this?" Four frowned. "You're behaving like a child."

"I–!" Ten exclaimed, incredulous. "You're the one who approached the universe as if it were your own personal playground. You never took anything seriously. The great Doctor, a law unto himself, bouncing haphazardly from system to system, beholden to no one. But you didn't consider the deeper implications of that life, did you? No, you died and left it to your replacements to deal with the consequences!"

Four rolled his eyes, aware his counterpart couldn't see him.

"Now you sound like the Council."

"I was President of the High Council," Ten retorted (5). "No, let me correct that–I was an absentee President. Again, your fault. You stayed in office just long enough to achieve your ends, then swanned off, ignoring your duties and leaving the government a shambles. You know how bureaucratic the Time Lords were–no one else would stand for office until you officially stepped down–which you never thought to do! Without you–without an official leader, the Council factionalized, weakening us and giving the Daleks the opportunity they needed to work out their devious agendas essentially unobserved. By the time Romana finally stepped up to take the reins, it was already too late. The Daleks had developed time travel capabilities. The Time Lords had no choice but to engage."

"This is ridiculous!" Four scowled. "I can't even see you! If we're to have this out, at least provide a more civil setting. Not this morbid void."

"You mean like this?"

Ten snapped his fingers, and suddenly the void was replaced by a setting nearly as desolate. The sky was as gray as steel and the smoky air was thick and cold, with a sharp, metallic tang.

"Why, I know this place," Four said, taking a few cautious steps across the rocky ground. "This is Skaro. The Daleks' homeworld. And, unless I'm very much mistaken, isn't that the Kaled Dome in the distance there? Last I saw, it was little more than a smoking cinder" (6).

"That was quite recently for you, wasn't it," Ten said, standing cold and expressionless several paces behind.

"About a month or so, give or take," Four said, somewhat defensively. "What of it? Our mission here was quite successful, as I recall."

"Is that what you think?" Ten snapped.

"Yes, I do think," Four retorted, starting to get angry. "You know, I'm getting tired of your vagueness and your accusations. If you have a point in bringing us here, get to it. We're wasting time with these childish games. Why are we here?"

Ten glared, his dark eyes burning with anger and shame.

"You let Davros live."

"What?"

"You wanted to know the truth, so I'm telling you," Ten cried, his sharp face flushing as his frozen facade finally shattered. "The Time War had its start here," he gestured firmly to the barren, dusty rocks. "When the Time Lords sent you to Skaro with orders to stop the Daleks from ever being developed. But you refused. You let them live, to kill, to destroy, to murder everything that's good, everything I ever cared about! Again and again, you had the choice to destroy them, to finally rid the universe of their cancerous presence, and each time you failed. Even now..." He paused, taking in a shaky breath. "I'm only standing here, like this, because despite all the sacrifice, all the deaths, they found ways to continue. They would have destroyed the Earth– They would have killed Rose if I hadn't…hadn't…"

He trailed off, his entire body trembling as he struggled to retain control. Four reached out a hand to touch his arm, but Ten slapped it away, hard.

"It was you!" he insisted, his voice beginning to crack. "It can all be traced back to you. All of it! I hate you! I hate you, and I hate this, and I hate that it will never end, it will never, never end and I'm so tired, but there's no one else, no one but me, and it's all my fault, I did it, I killed them all but I didn't die, I should have died…"

"Here now," Four said, becoming a bit alarmed. "Don't say that. Come on, come here, listen to me–"

"No!" Ten shook his head, pulling away from Four's grasp. "No, you don't understand. I killed them all, all those people, all those planets. It was the only way to end the Time War, to make sure at least something of the universe survived. And now it's happening again, it's all unraveling, and I can't do it, I can't face it…"

But whatever else the Doctor might have said was muffled by fabric as he found his head pressed against Four's coat. Four held him close while the ancient Time Lord sobbed into his scarf, clinging to the younger man with a desperation born of loneliness and guilt. The rhythm of the other Time Lord's double heartbeat broke through the last of his defenses, and he let himself go completely, releasing at last the tears he had held inside since he, as the Ninth Doctor, had first picked himself up off the TARDIS floor and felt, really felt that Gallifrey was gone. That he, the coward, the one man who could have stopped the carnage the War had wrought before it had even begun, had lived to become the last of the Time Lords.

It took him a few moments to realize Four was speaking, his deep voice irritating and comfortingly familiar at the same time, but he didn't have the energy to raise his head, or break away from the hug.

"You hate me," Four was saying, "because you know that what I did was right at the time. If I had destroyed those Dalek embryos, I would have been no different than the Daleks themselves."

"Oh, shut up," Ten sniffed against his scarf. "I've been trying to placate my conscience with just those types of pathetic platitudes for so long, and it's not good enough. Not anymore."

"What happened, old man," Four asked, pulling back far enough to look his counterpart in the eye. "You still haven't told me. What was it you did that was so terrible? How did this Time War start, anyway?"

"Ah," came a new voice, and the pair of them jumped apart in alarm, equally startled to realized they'd shifted locations once again. They were standing now in a graveyard in what appeared to be London on a damp and chilly November day. Beside them was a freshly dug grave, the stone engraved with a single symbol, an inverted U: omega. The voice that had spoken now continued, its owner, a rather short, portly man in a Panama hat, beige jacket, and a paisley scarf, swinging his umbrella as he strode out from among the moldering monuments.

"I believe I may have had a hand in that. The Hand of Omega, to be precise," he said, tapping the engraved stone with the umbrella's tip. "Here lies the remote stellar manipulator used by Omega, Gallifrey's greatest stellar engineer, to create the power source that gave the Time Lords their mastery over time travel. Namely, the Eye of Harmony" (7).

"I know what the Hand of Omega is," Four said, glancing from the stranger to his counterpart. "And the Eye of Harmony. But who are you? And what are you doing in his mind?"

"Yes, of course, introductions!" The man smiled, lifting his hat to reveal a head of tousled brown hair. "But first, I should clarify that I am not technically 'in' his mind. It would be more accurate to say that I 'am' his mind. An aspect of it, at least."

Four looked to Ten for clarification, but the elder Time Lord was focused completely on the grave, his narrow face strangely pale.

The little man seemed amused.

"Like the two of you," he said, "I'm the Doctor. Seventh in a long line of infamy and scandal." His smile broadened briefly in a quick grin, only to vanish as suddenly as it had come. "I apologize if my appearance startled you, but I couldn't stand by and allow you to take all the blame," he said to Four, his eyes dark and earnest. "If anyone should take responsibility for starting the Time War…it's me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> (1) The fourth Doctor, Sarah Jane, and Harry encountered the Cybermen in the Season 12 finale "Revenge of the Cybermen," which followed directly after "Genesis of the Daleks." The events of this story fit in the space between "Revenge of the Cybermen" and "Terror of the Zygons," which kicked off Season 13.
> 
> (2) The third Doctor described the Daleks that way in the Season 11 episode "Death to the Daleks." That was the first time Sarah Jane saw them. The second time was in "Genesis of the Daleks" with the fourth Doctor and Harry.
> 
> (3) Reference to the Christopher Eccleston episode "Parting of the Ways."
> 
> (4) Reference to the Season 11 episode "The Time Warrior," with Jon Pertwee.
> 
> (5) Reference to the Season 15 episode, "The Invasion of Time," with Tom Baker.
> 
> (6) Reference to "Genesis of the Daleks."
> 
> (7) The London graveyard and the Hand of Omega made their appearance in the Season 25 episode "Remembrance of the Daleks," with Sylvester McCoy.


	16. Chapter Fourteen

"You started the Time War," Four repeated, just to clarify.

Seven sighed.

"Yes," he said, "You may have set the pieces in play, but I provoked its outbreak."

"With the Hand of Omega."

"Correct."

"The Hand of Omega." His frown deepened as he joined Ten by the blatantly marked gravestone. "I had that with me when I left Gallifrey with Susan. But I never buried it. I hid it in a casket and left it with that mortician…what's his name…"(1).

"It doesn't matter," Ten said softly.

"Perhaps not, but I gave him explicit instructions not to touch that casket until my return!"

"And he didn't," Seven told him. "I'm the one who buried it. And then I used it."

"You–!" Four stared with a rather choked expression, passing a hand over his open mouth. "You used it? Possibly the most formidable, the most destructive piece of Time Lord technology ever created, and you used it?"

"Well, actually I–" Seven tried, but Four talked right over him, much to the little man's annoyance.

"The power of the Hand, once unleashed…!" he said. "Well, suffice to say I wouldn't wish such an end on my worst enemy. And speaking of the Daleks–"

"Ahem!" Seven cleared his throat and shot him a pointed glare. His younger counterpart gave a slight start, as if surprised by the sheer force of personality flaring behind his dark eyes. But the Seventh Doctor was used to being underestimated. Being neither as imposing nor as eccentric in appearance as many of his predecessors, it was something the cunning Time Lord had quickly learned to use to his advantage. Even so, it still stung to see his former self looking so startled, which was probably why his voice came out a bit sharper than he'd intended.

"If you don't mind," he scolded, "I'm speaking now, so I'd thank you to be quiet and listen." He paused then, like a professor waiting for his unruly class to settle down. Four stared at him, his expression caught between affronted and amused, but he nodded and gestured for his much shorter counterpart to continue (2).

"Thank you," Seven said wryly. "Now, as I was about to explain:

"By the time I encountered the Daleks, they were already investigating means of time travel. They'd learned of the legends of the Hand and come to Earth on their own little treasure hunt. It was my good fortune I was able to get to it first. If I hadn't acted when and how I did, Davros could have unlocked the secrets of the Hand and assumed the powers of a Time Lord. He could have gone back and reshaped the timeline to suit his twisted aims, and the Council wasn't ready to meet that challenge. Not then. Our defenses weren't strong enough. There would have been nothing we could do to stop him."

Four looked dismayed. "So, what then? You unleashed the power of the Hand against him? A preemptive strike–hit him before he thinks to hit you, is that what you're telling me?"

"Nothing so vindictive," Seven said, clearly offended by the accusation. "You seem to forget, Doctor, that no matter our outward appearance, we're still the same person, with the same abhorrence of violence and wanton destruction. When I acted, it was in direct response to the very immediate threat the Daleks posed, and I did so with the backing of the Council."

"Glad to hear it," Four said drolly.

Seven's nose twitched in irritation.

"This is precisely the attitude I should have expected from you," he sneered. "Well then, Doctor, let me tell you something you don't know.

"In the centuries before the Time War, the Daleks developed into two major and conflicting factions: the imperial Daleks loyal to the Emperor, and those led by the Dalek Supreme," he explained, rolling his r's as his voice sharpened. "These factions arose in direct response to Davros's incessant need to tinker with his monstrous creations. The mad Kaled scientist was never satisfied, always trying to make his Daleks 'better,' 'stronger'–the master race created in his own warped image," he snarled. "But his alterations were too much for the Daleks to accept. Their obsession with racial purity was too deeply ingrained: it overrode their loyalty to their creator. So, while his newest creations were bred and programmed to worship Davros as their emperor, a second faction, loyal to the Dalek Supreme, broke away. From that point on… Ooh, how did Ace put it…" Seven lifted his hat to scratch a hand through his hair. "Ah yes: the rival Dalek factions hated each other's chrromosomes" (3).

"I see," Four said, and frowned. "And the Hand? Where does that come in?"

"I'd have thought you would have worked that out by now," Seven said, rather patronizingly. Four scowled. "Davros had been itching to challenge the Time Lords and, more specifically, you for centuries–ever since your first meeting, when you failed to prevent the genesis of the Daleks."

"And I still stand by my decision," Four said defiantly. "No one, not even the Time Lords, has the right to dictate who may live and who must die. No one race is more or less worthy of life than another."

Seven harrumphed. "Yes, well, all proselytizing aside…" he sneered. "Davros knew that as long as we held the monopoly over the secrets of time travel his Daleks wouldn't stand a chance against Gallifrey's defenses. That's why he wanted the Hand, to even the odds, as it were. I found him here in London, 1963," he said, gesturing to their dreary surroundings, "where he had already infiltrated the Coal Hill School."

"The Coal Hill… But that's where Susan was enrolled," Four realized. "That means… Good grief, Davros must have arrived there only a few weeks after we left with Ian and Barbara!" (4).

"In early November, yes," Seven affirmed. "And the scouts sent by the Dalek Supreme followed him there, seeking to be the first to lay their grubby little appendages on the Hand. Both groups would have destroyed the Earth rather than let their rivals possess such a powerful device. So I figured, if they were determined to fight anyway, the best course would be to change the location of their battleground. I reprogrammed the Hand and buried it here, in this graveyard, where I could be certain the Emperor's agents would find it and take it away with them. The Dalek Supreme's forces followed and–"

"And you just sat back and waited for the factions to destroy each other as they battled for control of the Hand, is that it?"

Seven straightened his hat. "Essentially, yes. I begged Davros not to use the device–"

"Ah, the old reverse psychology ruse," Four commented with a dry sneer. "You set them up, then used their own hatred and arrogance as weapons against them. How very devious."

Seven glared and pointed his umbrella at his younger self.

"Don't give me that look," he said, and started his r's rolling again in a rather defensive manner. "Unlike some wayward Time Lords I could mention, I didn't have the option of inveigling my way out of this particular hard place. It wasn't just one planet at stake this time, or one species. If Davros had not been stopped, he would have become a threat to all life, everywhere! I was the President of the High Council and the only one who understood what the Daleks were truly capable of. It therefore fell to me and me alone to ensure that Davros would not succeed. I had moral qualms about using the Hand, to be sure. I hesitated, I debated, I sought other options. But in the end, I did what I had to do. I used my authority as President to fulfill my obligation to the Time Lords and to myself and, more importantly, I spared the universe from the tyranny of the Daleks. At least, for a time…"

Seven lowered his eyes, his mouth a grim line.

Four frowned, clearly unsure what to think of this complex little man he was destined to become. He glanced at Ten, who was standing still and solemn with his eyes on the grave, and ran a hand through his curls.

"The Hand of Omega reshapes stars," he said. "It manipulates their structure, alters their core. In order to stop Davros… Why, you must have–"

"He set the device to destroy Skaro's sun." Ten's cold voice cut in from beside the grave. "The planet Skaro and the waiting Dalek war fleets were obliterated in the resulting supernova. Both Dalek factions were destroyed–all the Daleks, gone. Except for one" (5).

He clenched his teeth and his fists, his nostrils flaring as he forced himself to say the words.

"Davros survived the carnage to rebuild his master race, only this time he bred them with a very specific aim. Vengeance. Against me, against Gallifrey… He indoctrinated these new Daleks with a single passion: to exterminate the Time Lords and assume control over the Eye of Harmony, not forgetting to aim a few jabs at Earth along the way. From that point on, and particularly after Davros had managed to crack the secrets of time travel, all Dalek attacks on Earth were carefully choreographed to distract our attention from his deeper plot. Davros could have gone anywhere, chosen any inhabited world, but he chose Earth for the simple reason that doing so would hurt me. The infamous Dalek invasion of 2164 was only one of his more successful distraction tactics, and it took me more than half my life to realize it. I–"

He swallowed and, when he spoke again, his voice was as harsh as acid.

"Susan left me because of that battle. She's gone…because of him. But his Daleks…" (6).

He took in a shaky breath, his eyes dark and fierce with resentful memory.

"They always find ways to continue. No matter what I do or how far I let myself fall…there's always one that escapes, to keep the flames of hate alive. I thought I'd destroyed them when I unloosed the Hand. But all I did was provoke them, provide them with a target on which to focus their anger!"

Ten turned on his portly counterpart then, practically shaking as he struggled to hold back his burning tears.

"You and your bloody chess!" he cried. "Why couldn't you just have taken the Hand back to Gallifrey with you? Why couldn't you have stowed it in some back corner of the TARDIS? The Time War was the direct result of your oh-so-cunningly oblique attempt at genocide. I let my guard down after the destruction of Skaro–we all did. But I should have remembered: the Daleks always survive!"

Seven faced the anguished Time Lord with his posture straight and his pale face flushed.

"I thought I could fix it," he shot back. "I thought if I could fool Davros into using the Hand on his own star… But it backfired, as violence and devastation always backfires. I set my people–I set the entire universe on a path to destruction because I was so desperate to make up for the mistake I'd made so many centuries before."

"Now see here–" Four tried to cut in, but Seven turned on him, his dark eyes blazing with the same self-hatred the Doctor had seen in his elder counterpart, and Four's hearts were suddenly seared with a blistering guilt. Could it be true? Could his moment of mercy truly have led to… But no, no surely there was more to it than that…

As if he had read his thoughts, Seven spat, "That was it. That one decision led directly to the single most destructive war the universe has ever known. The Time Lords spotted the Daleks for what they were from the moment of their inception: a terrible malignancy, which they sent the Doctor to cut out. But the Doctor failed. He allowed the cancer to grow, to spread and change until it had metastasized beyond the hope of any cure!"

"Save one."

It was a new voice that had spoken. A man's voice. Four turned in alarm, only to realize the scene had shifted yet again. They were now in a white, hexagonal auditorium, its three-tiered seating area sparsely dotted with high ranking Time Lords in full ceremonial dress. Ten was leaned up against the far wall with his arms crossed, surveying their surroundings with sharp, though oddly distant eyes. Seven stood beside Four, apparently unconcerned as he tucked the hook of his umbrella's question mark-shaped handle into his jacket pocket.

"Good grief," Four said. "Where in Rassilon's name are we now? I don't remember seeing this room before. And who is that, there, on the stage?"

Seven smirked and strode to the center of the floor, where a slender, elegantly dressed young man with softly curling brown hair stood frozen like a paused recording, apparently in mid-sentence. In a room full of glistening robes and high-backed headdresses, he looked singularly out of place–almost as much as Seven himself in his brightly colored sweater and Panama hat, not to mention Four and Ten in their respective Earth-inspired garb.

"That," Seven said rather smugly, "is you. Us. The Doctor Mark VIII, you might say. And we are currently standing in the War Room: a secret meeting chamber formerly used for high-profile trials the High Council wished to conceal from the general public. I didn't expect you to recognize it–they've redecorated extensively since the last time you were here. They exiled us to Earth that time, as I'm sure you recall, and forced us to regenerate. But I fared somewhat better the second time I was called before them. At least I was allowed to keep my face!" (7)

"Hmph," the Doctor snorted, not even pretending to follow what his counterpart was saying. His attention was fixed on examining the frozen man, yet another of his future incarnations. He was taller than Seven, but still a good half-foot shorter than Four. His wavy hair was just about shoulder-length, cut in an almost Edwardian style that matched his long, velveteen overcoat and silk vest. Even motionless, there was an unspoken grace about him, and his gently aquiline features made him seem a romantic, dreamy sort. Yet his blue eyes shone with an intensity and an energy that belied his rather soft, innocent aura. Four looked from him to Ten, then back to Seven and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Hm. I wonder," he said. "You aside, is there a reason I seem to be getting younger as I age?"

Seven shot him a dirty look.

"And I'm expected to take this from a man with a face like a Marsh-wiggle?" (8)

Four raised his eyebrows at that.

"It was just a question," he said. "No need to get personal."

"I'll have you know I'm quite spry for my age," Seven sniffed. "Although it probably wouldn't help my case to tell you I was once mistaken for Merlin." (9)

"Were you, indeed!" Four smiled. "Merlin! The wizard who youthens instead of ages. I rather like that. Tell me–and this is just out of curiosity, mind. No offense intended. Exactly how old are you?"

"Me?" Seven indicated his own form. "Nine hundred and fifty four." (10).

Four barked a triumphant laugh.

"Ha! And you're only the seventh! I knew he was lying. Making me think he'd regenerated six times in only three hundred years-even I'm not that careless! At least, I would hope not. Tell me," he said conspiratorially, pointing his thumb towards Ten. "Just how old is the old man? And give me the truth, I can take it."

"Three."

Four blinked.

"Come again?" he said.

"Three," Seven repeated. "Oh, he likes to shave off a few centuries; tell everyone he's only 900. Actually, he's rather like you in that respect."

"Shave off–" Four looked completely lost, and increasingly angry. "But you just said he was three! Twice!"

"Did I?" Seven said mildly. "Curious. Why would I have said a thing like that?"

Four readjusted his scarf.

"Look here," he said, "the old man may look a spring chicken, but there's no call to be like that. I'll just get him to tell me himself. Now, where's he…" He turned around, scanning his eyes over the room's motionless occupants in growing confusion. "Where's he gone?"

Seven regarded his agitated counterpart for a long moment, then sighed.

"He's far to close to this," he said quietly. "He still finds it difficult to distance himself from the past. Which is why I'm here."

Four quirked his brow.

"What, as a psychological safety measure, do you mean? A mental buffer between him and his more painful memories?"

"Metaphysically speaking," the smaller Time Lord said. "But he's still here, even if we can't see him. After all, in the words of the great philosopher: 'I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.'"

Four gave him a strange look.

"But that's from–" (11)

"Hush," Seven said in his cryptic way. "Just watch. The proof of the pudding is in the crust!"

And with that odd remark, the frozen room leapt into motion; a living memory as real as Four's senses. The Time Lords in the stands were all talking at once, the clustered groups arguing and shouting while the Eighth Doctor spoke with a rather striking young woman seated in the center of the first row. She was slim and not very tall, and she was dressed in the shimmering white and gold of the President of the High Council. Yet, neither she, nor Eight, nor any of the gathered Council members seemed aware that Four and Seven were there, even when Seven raised his voice to be heard over the sudden cacophony.

"You've learned how the Time War started," he said to Four, his voice growing strangely deeper as he spoke, becoming richer and far more distinctly regional. "Now I'll show you how it ends."

Four gaped despite himself. The portly, colorful little man with the umbrella had morphed before his eyes into a far more somber figure. He was tall and powerfully built, with closely cropped brown hair, prominent ears, and an angular, bony face. He was dressed all in black, from his boots to his worn leather jacket, and his eyes were deep with a seemingly permanent sorrow.

"I'm sorry if I was rude before," this new man said in his Lancashire accent. "Comes and goes with the personality, I guess. Still, it's not easy acceptin' the fact that it was my actions, my choices, that lead to the destruction of so many. I remember, when the Hand of Omega had done its business an' the Daleks were burning… My friend Ace said to me, 'We did good, didn't we?' And I gave her the only reply I could. 'Perhaps,' I said. 'Time will tell. It always does.' And now it has. For better or worse, it has" (12).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References: 
> 
> 1) Reference to the Sylvester McCoy episode, "Remembrance of the Daleks."
> 
> 2) According to the Internet Movie Database (IMDb), Sylvester McCoy is 5'6" (1.68m), Tom Baker is 6'3" (1.91m)–a match for Jon Pertwee–and David Tennant is 6'1" (1.85m)–the same as Peter Davison. Paul McGann is 5'8" (1.73m) - same as William Hartnell and Patrick Troughton - and Christopher Eccleston is 6'1 ½" (1.87m).
> 
> 3) Reference to "Remembrance of the Daleks."
> 
> 4) Reference to the Season 1 Pilot and also to the first broadcast episode of Doctor Who, "An Unearthly Child," featuring William Hartnell.
> 
> 5) Reference to "Remembrance of the Daleks."
> 
> 6) Reference to the Season Two Episode, "The Dalek Invasion of Earth," featuring William Hartnell. In that episode, Susan falls in love with a human freedom fighter from 2164 London, David Campbell, who helped them defeat the Dalek forces that had reduced the Earth to ruins. The Doctor realizes his granddaughter is willing to sacrifice her love to stay and care for him, an old man, and he won't have it. He locks her out of the TARDIS with the intention of giving her that domestic 'life he can never have,' and the promise that "One day, I shall come back. Yes, I shall come back. Until then, there must be no regrets, no tears, no anxieties. Just go forward in all your beliefs, and prove to me that I am not mistaken in mine. Goodbye, my dear. Goodbye, Susan." He has yet to fulfill that promise. As for why the reference to this episode–the theory for this story is: if the Daleks didn't have time travel capabilities when they took the Hand of Omega in 1963, it doesn't make sense that cruder versions of Daleks could have invaded so far in the future unless they were fighters Davros sent out much later as decoy distractions, both for the Doctor and the Time Lords, as part of his grand master plan to unlock the mysteries of time travel on his own and defeat the great Lords of Time themselves.
> 
> 7) Reference to the Season 6 episode, "The War Games," featuring Patrick Troughton, and to the Season 23 story arc "The Trial of a Time Lord," featuring Colin Baker, who is 6' even (1.83m).
> 
> 8) Tom Baker played Puddleglum the Marsh-wiggle in the BBC's 1990 version of The Chronicles of Narnia: The Silver Chair.
> 
> 9) Reference to the Season 26 episode "Battlefield," featuring Sylvester McCoy.
> 
> 10) The Seventh Doctor gave his age as 953 in his first episode "Time and the Rani." Since "Remembrance of the Daleks" kicked off his second season, his age at this point would be around 954.
> 
> 11) "I Am the Walrus," by John Lennon.
> 
> 12) Reference to "Remembrance of the Daleks."


	17. Chapter Fifteen

Four blinked and gave himself a little shake, looking the newcomer over carefully. It wasn't every day he saw himself essentially "regenerate" before his very eyes. Even if it was only a mental image, it had been a deeply dramatic effect.

"Hello," he said, holding his hand out to the grim-looking Time Lord with a slight smile. "Hello. I take it you're the Doctor, then. Another Doctor. You would be my, hm," he did a quick count on his fingers, "my ninth incarnation, is that right?"

"That's right, yeah," Nine said, taking Four's hand for a quick, firm shake. "An' you're the infamous Doctor who let the Daleks live."

Four's smile vanished.

"You know, I've had more than enough of all of you lot popping up and accusing me of–"

"Hey, no, calm down," Nine said, raising his hands in a placating manner. "I'm not here to accuse you of anythin'."

"Well, that's a change," Four said, and scowled.

Nine shook his head.

"Here, jus' listen for a moment," he said. "While none of us can deny that if you had destroyed those Dalek embryos at the very start none of this would have happened, it's no good dwellin' on it. The fact is, you showed mercy an' compassion, and I can't bring myself to fault you for that. Faced with a similar choice, well…" He sniffed and lowered his eyes. "Well, let's just say I couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger either" (1).

Four gave him a searching glance, but all he could see was the older man's sincerity. His expression softened.

"I wasn't looking for your approval," he said, still rather archly. "But thanks."

Nine smirked. "May as well jus' thank yourself. But it doesn't really matter whether I forgive you or not. No matter what, boy, you're gonna carry that weight a long time" (2).

Four frowned, but before he had a chance to question the implications of Nine's reference, the Council President caught his attention by standing up and raising her arms for silence. Despite the urgency of his situation and even despite himself, Four let out a slow, appreciative breath.

"Who is that woman?" he asked Nine in a clandestine tone. "I have the strangest feeling I should know her. Yet, I'm certain I've never seen her in my life."

Nine's expression went distant, and a little sad.

"She's an old friend," he smiled softly. "Romanadvoratrelundar."

Four gave a little wince. "Oh dear, is that her name?" he asked. "How very unfortunate. And such a lovely girl, too."

"Probably why you always called her Romana," Nine commented.

Four frowned.

"Me?"

"Was either that or Fred" (3).

"Fred?! Oh no. Surely, I never called her Fred."

"You did," Nine said, enjoying pulling his younger self's chain. "An' don't call me Shirley."

It took a second for Four to catch that one but, when he did, his mortified little "Oh, God," was nearly enough to make Nine laugh out loud. He didn't, though. The only external sign of his amusement was a brief smirk before he folded his arms across his chest and turned his eyes back to Romana, his tone becoming a little wistful as he went on.

"We traveled together for a time…a long time, her an' me," he said. "Had all sorts of adventures. One of the brightest stars of her generation, she was. Learned what she could from me, then went off on her own to do what she had to do. The Time Lords called what she did 'interferin',' but she became a genuine hero, defendin' the rights of the repressed an' enslaved (4). When she finally came back, she was brimmin' with new ideas; reforms, innovations, you name it. So, I resigned and handed the Presidency over to her. My last 'executive decree.'" He smirked, his eyes shining with fondness and pride. "Best move I could've made."

"So, we become good friends, then," Four said, looking rather pleased. "And you and she… I mean, she and I… Were we ever, well… Did she–?"

"Hush," Nine cut him off, pointing his chin to the scene before them. "You're gonna want to hear this."

"Do I take that as a yes, then?"

"I said hush!" Nine repeated.

Four shot him a rather dark sort of pout, but obligingly turned away to face the gathered Time Lords, pulling a bag of jelly babies from his pocket as he did. Without a sound or a glance, he held it out to Nine, who gave a rather exasperated sigh, but took a couple just the same. Together, they munched quietly in the corner, waiting for the show to begin.

The noise in the room had died down by this time, and the gathered Council members had settled into their respective positions in the stands, arranged by chapter and the colors of their robes (5). Romana lowered her arms.

"You all know why we're here," she said brusquely, wasting no time with preliminaries. "The War is not going well. Dalek fleets have infiltrated the timestreams; their fighters hold key positions throughout the Vortex. And the result of their ham-fisted attempts to reshape our reality to suit their aims is that timelines continue to split and divide at an unsustainable rate. My fellow Council members, I entreat you to listen. Our universe is on the brink of collapse. If something is not done, and soon, we'll all– Please, hear me! This concerns all our lives!"

But Romana's pleas were useless. Her words were being lost in a rising tide of protests, most of them coming from the large group that ringed the center of the stands. Many of these Council members had risen to their feet, and were now shaking their fists and shouting denials. Romana stood still and straight against their barrage, her lips pursed and her back and shoulders painfully tense beneath her flowing robes. Four made an unconscious move toward her, but Nine clamped a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back.

"Listen to them," he said, frowning in angry disgust. "Bloody bureaucrats. Even at this last stage, with disaster literally breathin' down their necks, they're still convinced they're immortal. They can't even imagine the possibility we might lose. That the great Gallifreyan civilization could come to an end." He snorted. "Most of these politicians have spent the whole war here in this building, holed up in their little tower, directin' affairs from afar. They have no idea what's really goin' on on the front!"

"Does Romana?" Four asked curiously, his eyes fixed on her as she faced down the crowd.

"Oh, she knows," Nine said. "She's been out there fightin', workin' with me to open voids and reassert the timeline, basically tryin' to prevent more planets from falling victim to entropy as a result of the Daleks' meddlin'. But our efforts were hopeless, the Daleks were too strong. That's why she brought me here–well, him," he gestured to Eight, who was still on the main stage, doggedly working on the hook up for his holoprojector. "To deliver the bad news. Oh, and she's startin' up again. Listen."

"Whether my fellow Council members accept it or not," Romana was saying, projecting her voice over the noise with prim, chilly authority, "our universe is teetering on the verge of an irreversible implosion. And with this latest revelation at the Battle of Jujunn Falls–namely, the Daleks' introduction of the ray that inhibits a Time Lord's ability to regenerate–it appears hopeless that our forces will be able to repair the damage in time. Yet, there is still a chance our universe can be saved. It's slim, and incredibly risky, but the stakes are such that–"

Romana was forced to stop again when a tall, haughty man with a long, pale face stepped forward from the center of the stands. He was dressed in the scarlet and orange robes of the Prydonian Chapter, and the dark widows peak that showed beneath his elaborate headdress, combined with his high ceremonial collar, made him seem reminiscent of a vampire from Earth legend. Romana's expression clouded at the sight of him.

"Kos," she said, and frowned. "If you have a question, I'll be happy to take it after–"

"No, I'd prefer you take it now," the pale man said, speaking more to the crowd than to her. "I refuse to sit quietly listening while you tell us the efforts of our soldiers are hopeless! Hopeless indeed," he scoffed. "It is a fine day when our own elected leader loses faith in her people."

"Kos…" Romana warned, but the tall man ignored her.

"But wait! We didn't elect her, did we!" he exclaimed. "And nor did we elect her predecessor, the notorious Doctor, who appointed her! No, he burst onto the political scene and demanded the position as a privilege of his House and rank–the House he had so callously abandoned centuries before! And once he had achieved his aim, once he had been granted this, our most exalted office, what did the great Doctor do then? He ran away like he always does, back to those human creatures he's so fond of!"

"Kos, I'm warning you–" Romana started again, but the man was on a roll now and talked right over her.

"This infamous pair holds no respect for our noble Gallifreyan heritage, or our valued traditions. All this talk of doom, all their dire warnings about the end of the universe… Do they forget that we are Time Lords?! This Dalek threat will pass and Davros will fall, just as the Racnoss fell back in the days of Rassilon (6). If you ask me, this so-called emergency Council meeting is just another of their ploys to keep us worried, to keep us off balance, to keep us from realizing that this war is their fault! But we know the truth, don't we? We know that if it wasn't for their blatant disregard for the Laws of Time, we would never have been forced into this disastrous war with the Daleks in the first place!"

A roar of approval sprung up from the crowd, the gathered Time Lords cheering and knocking their fists against the arms of their seats. Romana glared, but the look in Nine's eyes could have set stone ablaze.

"Kos," Four mused, drumming his fingers against his chin. "Kos, Kos, where have I heard that name before?"

"He's the Master's younger Cousin," Nine spat. "Leader of the Oppositional Conservatives and head of the anti-war movement. The Voice of Peace, he liked to call himself." Nine made a disgusted face. "Kos was always a match for the Master in arrogance, but he never had even a fraction of his intelligence. He's a windbag, jus' feeds the people what they want to believe with no regard for the actual facts. You've never met him–he's never even been off Gallifrey–but by this time he's been on the Council for about a century an' a half."

"Hm," Four grunted. "And what of the Master? Where was he while this Time War was going on?"

Nine shrugged. "Beats me. Dead, as far as I know. I heard a rumor one of the factions–most likely Kos an' his crowd–had used his biodata records to resurrect him, but I never saw him. Far as I'm concerned, he died a long time ago, after I foiled his scheme to take over my body and claim my remaining regenerations as his own" (7)

Four raised an incredulous eyebrow. "He tried that?" he said. "Good grief. Poor bastard must have been desperate. How did he die, then?"

"TARDIS ate him," Nine said simply. "His own fault, really."

Four gave him a blank stare, not understanding.

"No, I'm serious," Nine said. "He was pulled straight into the Eye of Harmony. The ol' girl had a touch of indigestion followin' that, nothin' too serious (8). But Kos always blamed me for his Cousin's inauspicious end. 'S jus' one of the reasons he hated me so much, but what bugged me most about him was that, instead of confrontin' me about it directly, he took it all out on Romana. Bloody coward, he was."

Four shot him a skeptical look, unsure whether to believe such an outrageous story. Nine certainly seemed sincere enough. But Romana was shouting over the crowd now, so he stored his questions away and turned his attention back to her.

"Councilor Kos!" she snapped. "That's enough! Have you forgotten this is a crisis meeting? Any more of that talk and I'll have you charged with inciting treason."

"Ah, is this to be a dictatorship, then, my Lady President?" The smarmy Councilor inclined his head mockingly. "Are we to be punished for speaking the truth?"

Romana rolled her eyes. "No, that's not what–"

"And what about your treasonous acts, milady?" Kos snapped. "Your open defiance of the First Law! Tell us, Lady Romana. Tell us about your time in E-Space!"

"I've had enough of this," Four growled, striding toward the stage before Nine could stop him. "If that overdressed fool of a Doctor up there doesn't say something soon, I'll just have to–"

Just then, there was a sudden flash of light and the whole room began to waver and shimmer, as though they were viewing it through water. The Council cried out and Four froze in place, his wide eyes bulging slightly in surprise.

"I say," he said. "Was that supposed to happen? I didn't touch anything, did I?"

Nine gave a smirky sort of smile and pointed to the stage. The Eighth Doctor was standing there, patiently holding up his sonic screwdriver. Once the gathered Time Lords had settled down a bit, he pointed the device at the holoprojector and the odd, wavery effect faded away.

"Thank you," he said in his soft, cultured voice, acknowledging Romana's annoyed–though, grateful–look with a slight smile. "And thank you all for coming on such short notice. Now, I realize many of you do not trust me and that's all right. I'm not asking for your trust, not yet. At this point, all I need is your attention, full and undivided. Because what I'm about to show you is a reality that we can no longer afford to ignore."

"Sweet Rassilon, this isn't to be another of your lectures on entropy, is it?" Kos called out from his seat. "I can't speak for the rest of you, but the last thing I need is another two hours of the Doctor telling us the sky is falling."

Several of Kos's closer supporters snickered at that. But rather than respond to Kos's heckling, the Doctor simply activated his sonic screwdriver again.

Suddenly, the image of a brown, oceanless planet was rotating slowly in the center of the room. An elderly-looking Time Lady gasped in recognition.

"Why, that's Logopolis," she said. "I studied there as a girl. But that planet was destroyed ages ago."

"I know," Eight said. "I was witness to its destruction."

"Then why show it to us now?" Kos called out again, sounding theatrically bored.

"Because before its fall, the Monitor of Logopolis entrusted me with a secret," the Doctor replied. "It is a secret I have never shared with anyone before, except Romana. But now, I must share it with you."

"What are you talking about?" Kos said. "This is the first I've heard of any 'secret'. Do you know of any secret?" he asked the elderly lady.

"No," she shook her head. "And I worked with the Monitor for over a decade."

"That's because you weren't meant to know," the Doctor said. "None of us were. That's the way the Logopolitans wanted it. But if you are willing to listen to me and open your minds, I believe we can use this secret, and the Logopolitans' unfinished work, to put a final end to this terrible war."

The crowd began to mutter and mumble, curious but still rather skeptical. The Doctor changed the projected image once again. Now, what looked to be a tall glass tree with dozens of delicate, spreading branches rotated in Logopolis's place.

"This is a basic mathematical representation of our universe," the Doctor explained. "Or, rather, of what our universe should look like: a great big tree with sweeping branches, its roots plugged into the energy left from the Big Bang. Now, now, before you say anything," he held up a hand to hold off any comments from Kos, "I know that's a very simplistic metaphor for an incredibly complex system. But I ask that you all bear with me and hear me out before you make any comment."

The Doctor then went on to speak of Logopolis, of the Master's plan to bend the Skasis Paradigm to his will, and his inadvertent destruction of the planet and all its people. He told of his desperate efforts to open a void between dimensions to provide the starving universe a temporary power source, and of the sacrifice he made to achieve this vital mission. And then, he revealed a startling truth; a truth that left even Kos feeling chilled.

"In the normal course of things," he said, "the timelines that make up our unique universal system branch and divide according to the choices made by its inhabitants. The same thing happens in other universes, in alternate dimensions branching off from alternate versions of the big bang. Usually a crossroads is reached, a decision made, and the abandoned paths eventually atrophy and fade away. But if for any reason they don't, and these branches become too complex–if they require pruning, to extend the tree metaphor–then that is where we come in.

"We Time Lords have served as the universe's loyal gardeners for more centuries than any of us would care to count. We sort out tangles, straighten anomalies, and spread spackle over any temporal fissures that may crop up. It has always been our job to operate behind the scenes, keeping our universe well pruned and healthy. And it worked. Even without Logopolis, ours was a sustainable system–until the Daleks came.

"Davros and his Daleks have perverted this system. Their amateur meddling has destabilized the Matrix, forcing the timelines to split too fast and too thickly. Somewhere along the line, without even being aware of it, we lost control until, now, realities are shifting so quickly under the selfish influence of the Daleks that our tree has grown wild and top heavy, its myriad branches too unwieldy for its base to sustain. Any energy our universe had stored is being used to support this unhealthy new growth, with the terrible consequence that our universe is rapidly running out of fuel. Romana and I have roamed the galaxies, opening as many voids to alternate dimensions as we could, but it is not enough. It will never be enough. Our universe, honorable Ladies and Lords of Time, is dying."

"So, it is true," the elderly Time Lady said, her low voice cutting through the silence that had fallen. "Your warnings, all that you have said over the years since the war began." She shook her head, heavy under the weight of her elaborate headdress. "What can we do, Doctor?" she asked him. "You and Romana, you told us there was hope. How can we stop these Daleks and set the universe back on its proper course?"

"I'd like to know that myself," Four commented from the shadows, beside Nine. Out on the stage, Eight looked slowly around at the Time Lords' worried, expectant faces and sighed.

"As any gardener, or any doctor knows, to save a life, a limb must sometimes be sacrificed," he said somberly. "If we do nothing, our universe will strangle to death in its own branches. Everything that makes our reality unique, all the peoples and cultures and creatures and plants and stars and planets, all of them will fade to nothing. We shall die together, all of us, and it will be as if we had never been. However…"

He changed the holo-image once again, this time to show a mangled, lopsided glassy structure, its wild, twisting branches forcing its trunk to bend alarmingly.

"This is a basic mathematical representation of our universe as it is today," he announced to the appalled Time Lords. "As you can see, the core of the instability stems from its central branches. It is spreading downwards, here, as the Daleks work their way farther back in time. But as of right now, the main trunk is still strong."

"So what exactly are you suggesting?" a portly Time Lord with a bushy black beard spoke up from left. "That we 'prune' the branches back, as you put it?"

"As a start," the Doctor said. "And they must be cut close to the main trunk, if their original integrity is to be preserved. But that is just a beginning. Because, even if we do remove all the unstable branches, there is still not enough energy left to sustain healthy growth. Entropy will claim us in only a matter of centuries; barely a fraction of a Time Lord's lifespan."

"Then what?" Kos spoke out. "Do we open more voids? Would that not promote a different kind of instability?"

"It would, which is why new voids are out," the Doctor told him. "If we are to find a new energy source, it must come from here. From within our own universe."

"But that's impossible!" Kos exclaimed. "You can't create something from nothing. It's a basic physical law!"

"Quite true," the Doctor said. "But my friend Kos here is forgetting something."

"Am I?" Kos sneered. "And what is that?"

"The secret of Logopolis!" the Doctor proclaimed. "The Skasis Paradigm. If we work together, we can reshape our universe using the block transfer equations developed by the Logopolitans–no, no, hear me out!" he said, holding back the rising cries of protest.

"Listen to me–this plan is our only hope! What I propose is this: once we amputate the unstable branches, the universe will be returned to a more basic state; something of a template, if you will, with the potential to grow back in a more normalized, regulated fashion. Using the Skasis Paradigm, we can lock this template in a perpetual loop and compress its energy: provoke a controlled collapse, essentially creating a 'seed.' A highly condensed, static seed universe containing all the potential and attributes of our own. Once the seed is set in its loop, it will not be able to be changed or altered in any way. But, like a seed, the energy it holds will be able to feed a new sprout–a new universe grown from the collective potential of our own. In this way our universe and the majority of its peoples will survive, albeit as part of a simpler, less diverse system."

"I believe I have spotted a flaw in your audacious plan," Kos sneered. "You speak of a sprout, a new universe grown from the compressed energy of our own. But to force such a sprout to branch out like that would require unthinkable amounts of energy–energy which, according to your claims, we do not have to spare."

"He's right," the bearded man agreed. "Such a thing would require an explosive force akin to the big bang itself! It's impossible!"

"Not," the Doctor started, then clenched his fist around his sonic screwdriver and began again, his blue eyes deep with pained resolution. "Not if we use the Eye."

A new gasp ran round the room, alarmed and horrified by the implications of Eight's suggestion.

"The Eye?" Kos exclaimed. "You mean the Eye of Harmony? No. No! What you are proposing...why, it would mean the end of Gallifrey. Of us! Our planet, everything–everything would burn! You would kill us all to promote this scheme!"

"And if we do nothing, we shall all die anyway!" the Doctor retorted. "At least this way, by using the power harnessed within the Eye, we will be able to save at least something of our universe from the Daleks. The less developed species will have a chance to continue, to grow and expand as they should have. For them, it would be as if the war had never happened."

"The 'less developed species'!" Kos exclaimed. "The humans, you mean. I should have known. This mad plan is just a scheme to protect your precious humans! Never mind us, your own people! Never mind your home planet! Now we know where your allegiance truly lies–with the humans, not the Time Lords! You're a traitor to your race, Doctor! You always have been. And I, for one, will have nothing to do with your repugnant plot to destroy our world for the benefit of your precious pets!"

With that, Kos stormed from the room, followed by a vocal stream of supporters. The remaining Time Lords had already broken into factions, arguing and shouting while Romana and the Doctor tried in vain to bring them back to order.

Four sighed at the depressing sight and turned back to Nine.

"I believe I can guess what happened next," he said. "Permission for the plan was refused officially, but unofficially we were given the go-ahead to carry on, is that it?"

"In a nutshell," Nine said. "Orossai--that's the elderly lady up front." He pointed. "She ended up bein' a lot of help. She got together a group of mathematical geniuses who actually understood block transfer computation, and set them all to work crackin' the Skasis Paradigm. They programmed the necessary code into the TARDIS's core, then Romana and I and a bunch of crack stellar engineers got together to create a remote link to the Eye. All it would take was a push of a button on the TARDIS console, and the corrupted branches would fade away, the universal core would compress, and the Eye would explode, initiating the time loop and forcin' the seed universe to sprout anew. We kept the plan secret until the last, though. As long as there was a glimmer of hope the war might turn in our favor, we pretended like the button wasn't even there.

"And then came Arcadia." Nine closed his eyes in pain against the memories. "The final battle of the War. I was there that day; fightin' on the front lines" (9). He smirked. "To look at him, you wouldn't think our eighth self could yell, would you. But with those lasers blastin' and the landscape explodin' and timelines shiftin' every moment, he had a roar that could carry across ten battlefields (10). Kept our troops together and fightin' up to the very end. But our numbers were always too small. The Daleks overpowered us before long, and we were forced into a retreat. We knew then it was the end. We all knew. We had nothin' left, and still the Daleks were everywhere, pourin' in from all directions. My troops were falling all around me, an' I was hit myself, grazed by one of the Daleks' regeneration-inhibitor rays. I was done for, Gallifrey was done for, and the universe was teeterin' on a knife's edge.

"And so, Romana gave the order. She contacted me in the TARDIS, her blue eyes all red with tears. Gallifrey was overrun, she said. The Daleks had broken their way into the Citadel. We had lost the War. And then, she told me to push the button. The button to restart the universe. I promised I would and I watched as the Dalek leader shot her down. Then, with that terrible vision burnt into my mind, I did it. I pushed the button, and the universe convulsed."

Nine took in a deep breath, trying to steady his emotions before he went on. Four waited for him to recover, the image of sympathy and patience. But then, he began to notice a change. The white Council chamber was fading away before his eyes to be replaced by a pulsing diagram of the overgrown universe. As he watched it, fascinated, a faded, almost eerie strain of music began to play, deep in the back of his mind. It was too faint for him to recognize, but it grew stronger as the image began to change shape. The thin, tangled branches fell away, leaving only the trunk and a few core branches. This trunk compressed and flattened, rounding out into a repeating loop of definite, static events, with no possibility of change or fracture. And then, the explosion. Four watched in silent horror broken only by the distant music as the Eye of Harmony consumed the planet it had sustained for so long. Gallifrey burned with a blinding intensity, but he couldn't bring himself to look away.

"I wasn't supposed to survive," Nine said quietly, standing beside his former self as they watched the flames rise and flicker. "I'd been shot by a Dalek, and the TARDIS had become the epicenter of a radical universal change. We should have been utterly destroyed. But it didn't happen."

"The block transfer equations," Four realized. "They were programmed into the TARDIS's core. When you activated the program, the equations must have altered the TARDIS as they would a computer…"

"And, as a consequence, me," Nine said. "The equations changed somethin' basic in our quantum signature, allowin' me an' the TARDIS to be flung across the dimensional barrier into the newly sprouting infant universe. So, when our seventh self was tellin' you our current incarnation is only three? That's what he meant. When I woke up on the TARDIS floor, I was a new man. Not just in looks, but sub-atomically as well. 'S why I survived. 'S why I'm the Last of the Time Lords."

Four nodded, rather overwhelmed.

"Well," was all he could think to say.

"Yeah," Nine agreed.

"Then that–yes, that must be why the old man was in such a panic over these jellyfish creatures," Four realized. "I…I'm from that looped seed universe, aren't I? Those creatures must have broken though the dimensional barrier somehow, hopping from the shoot to the seed, and begun disrupting the established timeline–causing it to begin to split! But, if the new universe is feeding off the old, and the old has begun to destabilize…"

"You've got it," Nine said. "Hit the nail right on the head. That's why these pan-dimensional things are such a menace. Already they've killed Stu Sutcliffe before his time, not to mention those other people they've consumed. They're altering a timeline that should be static, disrupting the time loop and expending energy that can't be spared."

"But…but what can we do about it?" Four frowned, terribly alarmed. "And what of Sarah Jane, Harry, and myself? We're a part of this problem now, altered as we've been by changing events. With every new choice we make, we're growing farther from our own established timestream! By Rassilon's beard, the implications--"

"Now, now, don't panic," Nine said. "You were right before, about two Time Lords bein' better than one. 'S always better with two." His eyes went soft and distant for a moment, but when he looked back up, they were bright with sincerity.

"Our current incarnation needs you," he said. "He's stubborn, but he knows it as well as I do. He needs your ingenuity and your insight to find a way to repair the damage the creatures have done before it's too late. And if you're successful, who knows? Maybe you won't have to worry about leavin' your timestream. 'Cause by then, maybe you'll have never left."

Four snorted a little at that. Nine smiled and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Well, I've done my part," he said. "Answered your questions, filled you in on the Time War's end. Now it's time for you to get back where you belong."

"Yes, of course," Four said. "But, before I go, I do have one last question."

"Shoot," Nine said gamely.

"That music," he said, looking back at the image of the seed universe and its fragile sprout. "What is it?"

"Music?" Nine frowned in confusion.

"Oh, surely you heard it," Four said. "When the diagram was reshaping itself, it was there in the background. It…it was familiar somehow, haunting. But it was too faint, and I couldn't place it."

"I'm sorry," Nine said. "But I didn't hear anything."

"But it was there!" Four insisted. "It had words…I'm certain I heard singing… Here, why don't you show that diagram again. Show it again, and I'll prove there was music."

Nine shrugged, but gestured to the mentally projected image, stepping back into the shadows as Four moved closer.

Four watched intently as the warped, tangled tree began once again to reshape itself, leaning in nearer and nearer until he found himself absorbed in the image itself. He was falling now, spinning in the blackness of empty space, and the song was all around him. It cushioned his fall like a parachute of distant sound, and as the universe around him warped and changed, the tune grew louder, and he could hear the voices, voices singing through the dark…

Turn off your mind, relax and float downstream; It is not dying, It is not dying.  
Lay down all thoughts, surrender to the void; It is shining, It is shining.  
That you may see the meaning of within, It is believing, It is believing.  
That love is all, that love is everyone; It is knowing, It is knowing, That ignorance and hate may mourn the dead, It is believing, It is believing.  
But listen to the color of your dream, It is not living, It is not living, Or play the game "Existence" to the end Of the beginning, Of the beginning, Of the beginning, Of the beginning…(11)

And when he awoke, he was looking into Ten's startled brown eyes. At that moment, Four was certain his counterpart had heard the music too…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> (1) Reference to the Christopher Eccleston episode "Bad Wolf/Parting of the Ways," from Series One.
> 
> (2) Reference to the 1969 Beatles' song "Carry That Weight," by Paul McCartney. He wrote it about trying to keep the Beatles together after their manager, Brian Epstein, died of a sleeping pill overdose in 1967. It was meshed together with the song "Golden Slumbers" on the Abbey Road album.
> 
> (3) Reference to the Season Sixteen episode "The Ribos Operation," featuring Tom Baker, and Mary Tamm as Romana I. Romana later regenerated into Sarah "Lalla" Ward in the Season Seventeen episode "Destiny of the Daleks." Ward, who is descended from British nobility, married Tom Baker in December of 1981, but the marriage only lasted 16 months. For the purposes of this story, it's assumed that Romana regenerated yet again before assuming her position as President of the High Council and is now on her third incarnation.
> 
> (4) Reference to the Season Eighteen E-Space Trilogy: "Full Circle," "State of Decay," and "Warriors' Gate," featuring Tom Baker and Lalla Ward.
> 
> (5) All Time Lords belonged to various chapters–presumably based on the colleges they belonged to at the Academy–and each chapter wore different color robes. For example, the Prydonian Chapter, of which the Doctor was a member, wore scarlet and orange. Other chapter colors included green, brown, maroon, and possibly yellow/gold. (Information gleaned from the Season Fifteen episode "The Invasion of Time," featuring Tom Baker and the Season Twenty episode "Arc of Infinity," featuring Peter Davison.)
> 
> (6) Reference to the Series Three Christmas Special "The Runaway Bride," featuring David Tennant, and Sarah Parish as the Empress of the Racnoss.
> 
> (7-8) References to Doctor Who: The Movie featuring Paul McGann as the Eighth Doctor and to the Series Three episodes "Utopia," and "The Sound of Drums/The Last of the Time Lords," featuring David Tennant.
> 
> (9) Reference to the Series Two episode "Doomsday," featuring David Tennant.
> 
> (10) Paul McGann played Lieutenant Bush in the fantastic A&E Horatio Hornblower mini-series starring Ioan Gruffudd as the title character. McGann appeared in the two-part episode "Mutiny" and "Retribution." I'm referencing this because before I saw McGann in this role, I had a hard time imagining his Doctor as a fighter. As it turns out, McGann has a very impressive battle roar, but he also lent Bush an intelligence and a kindness that made me see that his Eight could fight on the front lines, while still retaining his essential Doctorishness and his personal romantic outlook.
> 
> (11) "Tomorrow Never Knows" Words and music by John Lennon and Paul McCartney, Northern Songs Ltd., 1996.


	18. Chapter Sixteen

Harry Sullivan was ruminating, glumly. It had been just over three minutes since the girls had left him for their tour (by his watch, at any rate) and still the two Doctors hadn't moved as much as an eyelash. They just stood there facing each other with their eyes closed, their fingers splayed over the other's cheek.

Even the TARDIS's constant hum seemed to have slowed its tempo. Watching them, so still in the greenish light, gave Harry an eerie, creepy feeling. It was similar to the feeling he always got when he walked through a museum exhibit of stuffed birds; a tingly, oppressive sensation that there was something present there, something unfolding just beyond his perceptions.

Suddenly, he wished he had chosen to join the girls. Then he wouldn't feel so isolated in this strangely glowing, alien place. He shivered slightly and glanced at the battered old phone box in the corner. At least it looked familiar. Harry was just debating whether or not to seek refuge in his Doctor's bright, white control room, when his musings were interrupted by a sharp, dual gasp.

 

"Ah! So you did hear it!" his Doctor boomed, the welcome sound of his lively voice prompting Harry to release a nervous breath he wasn't even aware he'd been holding.

"Yes, but only vaguely," the younger—no, older, Harry corrected himself—the older Doctor said, slipping his thick specs over his nose. Taking them off again, the Time Lord frowned and tossed them aside. He dashed over to a long, tan coat that was draped across one of the room's coral-like columns and began fumbling through the pockets.

"I forgot—I still haven't had a chance to change out of these clothes," he said and grimaced, pulling a sleek pair of thin-rimmed glasses from the coat and wiping the lenses on his sweater. "Remind me to do that before we land anywhere—ah, that's better!"

He smiled, donning the glasses, then leaped back up the ramp to adjust the console's swiveling monitor screen.

"You didn't happen to catch any of the words that time, did you?"

"There was something about a 'void,'" the scarfed Doctor said, peering over his counterpart's shoulder as he began to type. "Oh—and floating. They definitely mentioned floating. Down a stream, I think it was."

The spectacled Doctor made a face.

"Well, that's not much good. Might as well look up Row, Row, Row Your Boat. Come on, think harder. If we can just identify this song, I have the feeling—"

"Yes, so do I," the taller Doctor agreed, clearly operating on the same wavelength. "I've no doubt that what we heard was actually a representation of something else, like in a dream. Decipher the meaning, and—"

"We may just find the key we're looking for," the slender Doctor said distractedly, still typing. "The…the code we need to…to reverse the entropic effects of…blast!"

The monitor bleeped and he sighed, pushing it away.

"Nope, it's no good. Seems the block transfer codes were wiped from the TARDIS's memory core after the event."

In a fit of sudden frustration, he banged his fist on the console.

"We've got to identify that song! So far, it's the only hope we have of finding a way to repair this bloody mess!"

Four frowned thoughtfully.

"Perhaps if we hummed the tune, the TARDIS might glean enough information to narrow the search."

Ten turned to face him.

"You remember the tune?" he asked eagerly.

"On the whole….no."

Ten's face sagged.

"But, it came through more clearly than the words at any rate." Four shrugged. "Worth a try, wouldn't you say?"

"Well, I—"

"Erm, hello," Harry spoke up, completely lost by the Time Lords' peculiar conversation and more than a little annoyed that they hadn't so much as looked in his direction since they'd snapped out of their trance, or whatever it was.

"Hello, excuse me," he said again, his voice sharp with irritation.

Immediately, two twin, unnervingly intense stares turned his way. Harry swallowed, realizing he may have interrupted something important.

"Um…" he tried, but the Doctors were already speaking.

"Harry!" they chorused, obviously noticing his presence for the first time. "Where's Rose/Where's Sarah Jane?"

Sharing a glare, they chorused again, "Stop doing that. That! I mean it! Can I help it if you choose to imitate me? You're imitating me! Oi, you quit that, right now! It's not like I'm doing this on purpose, you know. Will you stop!"

Harry couldn't help it. Despite himself and despite his irritation and anxiety, the young officer burst out laughing.

The Doctors shifted their glares to him, but their expressions were softer this time, even holding the hint of a grudging smirk. It was then that the girls made their entrance. Sarah Jane looked the same, save for the blue ribbon that now adorned her short brown hair. Rose, however, had brushed out her '60s 'do and changed back into her usual clothes.

"We heard you all the way down the hall. What's so funny? What did we miss?" Sarah Jane asked curiously, striding over to her Doctor while Rose slipped past her to smile up at hers.

"Oi, Buddy Holly, how did the mind-meld go?" she asked through a teasing smirk.

Ten scowled back, then glanced over to Four, who lowered his eyes slightly and gave a frowning shrug.

"We think we've found a clue," Ten told her.

"Oh? What sort of clue?"

"The musical sort," Four said.

Ten shot him a look.

"It's rather more complicated than that," he said. "Listen, Rose, remember when we were at the Cavern Club, and you asked me why I was so worried about contaminating the timeline?"

"Yeah…"

"And I told you it was because this universe, their universe," he gestured to Harry, Four, and Sarah, "is meant to be an unchanging 'seed' that serves as a template and an energy source for our own reality?"

Rose looked blank. "Er, no…" she said, frowning slightly. "What you said was, 'Rose, I'll explain later. Honest.' That I remember."

"Oh. Did I? Well," the Doctor sniffed, "better get to it, then. This, in a nutshell, is our situation. We—"

"Wait, wait, wait, wait!" Rose held up her hands, rather to Harry's relief. "Before you get started on some big technical explanation thing, jus' answer me this. Those creatures, the ones we've been chasin'," she said, "they're the ones responsible for makin' our universe unstable, right? By burstin' through that barrier that separates our reality from theirs?"

She nodded toward Sarah and Harry, who were struggling to follow as best they could.

"Right," Ten said. "Both realities are actually part of the same universal system, it's just that ours is constantly growing and changing while theirs is stuck in a definite, unchanging loop. Any disruption to the static nature of that loop—like the scene we witnessed at the club—starts a chain reaction that will ultimately destabilize both realities. They're linked, you see, the static universe feeding our growing universe like a seed feeds its sprout. Alter those static events, and the static universe begins to fragment. This forces the sprouting universe to split from the roots on up, dividing into God only knows how many different realities. Only, our universal system doesn't hold enough energy to sustain this kind of thing, so instead of continuing to branch out and develop normally, everything—new and old—begins to fade away."

"An' that's entropy," Rose said, clearly struggling to keep her brain from spinning away from her.

"It's essentially a case of the irreversibility of nature," Four spoke up, his deep voice less energetic, but far more resonant than his counterpart's bright, London-tinted tones. Harry smiled to himself, relieved that his familiar Doctor was getting into the act at last.

"The universe likes equilibrium," Four went on, "so over time everything—temperature, energy, pressure—begins to even out. Entropy is a way of measuring how far this evening-out process has gone. In our case, unfortunately, it flatlined several millennia ago, and the recent Time War made the situation worse. It was only by being exceptionally clever that your friend here," he indicated Ten, "was able to devise a way to sweep together what was left of our energy stores and keep our reality moving along."

"Incredible," Sarah Jane said. "But... But no, wait. In order to do something like that, wouldn't you have to find a way to redistribute the energy that was already spread out across the universe? Without a new source of energy, how did you ever manage to—"

"Never mind that," Ten interrupted, his youthful features looking rather stretched and pale at the memory of his sacrifice. The Eye of Harmony releasing its power…Gallifrey burning in the aftershock… He cleared his throat.

"What matters is stopping these creatures and repairing whatever damage they've already caused."

"I think I get it..." Rose frowned, her forehead all scrunched up in concentration.

Harry crossed his arms with a somewhat resentful scowl.

"Well I certainly don't," he thought to himself, unwilling to risk looking petty by voicing the sentiment aloud. "But no, never mind me. Please, do go on. As long as Sarah and Rose understand, that's all that matters. I'll just tag along…as always…"

"An' so this clue," Rose was saying when he looked back up, "the one you dug up during your mind-meld. Will it help you fix all this? Stop the creatures, put things back the way they're supposed to be, halt the imminent collapse of the universe, all that sort of thing?"

"That's what I'm trying to explain," Ten said, shooting an odd little look over to Four, who had wandered off while Rose was speaking and begun humming absently to himself. "You see, Rose, there's this thing called block transfer computation. It's quite possibly the most complicated, the most dangerous, and the most difficult discipline ever discovered. Using block transfer equations, an individual can literally reshape reality, from the smallest subatomic particle to an entire planet, to the universe itself."

Rose frowned. "You mean like that code the Krillitanes were tryin' to break back at that school? The God Maker?" (1).

Sarah Jane's eyes widened. Harry could see that she was amazed and a little jealous that Rose had already had the opportunity to investigate something so vast and frightening. As for Rose's Doctor, his face lit up with pride.

"Yes! Exactly!" he beamed. "The Skasis Paradigm, or God Maker as it's sometimes called, is central to advanced block transfer computation. But because it is by nature so dangerous and so difficult to comprehend, only a very few minds have been able to unlock and use its secrets."

"All right," Rose said, nodding. "I'm with you so far. But what's block transfer equations got to do with those creatures?"

"I'm getting to that," the Time Lord said, and sighed. "You see, the reason we're here like this—in fact, the reason those creatures are such a problem—is because I used the Skasis Paradigm to compress and, well, essentially restart the universe. That's how I was able to redistribute its energy so it could continue to grow and develop."

He paused, considering.

"Well, actually, the TARDIS processed the code, I merely pressed the button that initiated the program. But, that's why the universe is in this fragile state, and why the activities of those creatures are so dangerous. Every time they break through the dimensional barrier that divides our reality from the seed universe that feeds it, they're altering the equation, changing the shape of space-time. It's like…like they're shooting at a shop window with a BB gun. Eventually, the glass is going to shatter. And when it does, our universe will go down with it. It will be as if none of us had ever existed."

Rose pursed her lips.

"Yeah… Not good," she said. "And so, this clue you mentioned… You can use that to stop reality from shatterin', yeah?"

"Well…" The Doctor winced. "Here's the thing. After I pushed the button and the universe reshaped itself, the block transfer codes stored in the TARDIS's memory core were wiped. There's not a trace of them left. However—" he said, cutting off any comment from Rose or Sarah Jane, "I believe—that is, he and I believe," he gestured to Four, who was now pacing around and around his parked TARDIS, still humming to himself, "that the code is locked somewhere in my subconscious mind. Only, instead of bein' stored as mathematical equations, which are far too dangerous for any mind—organic or AI—to hold without going mad, the numerical formulae were somehow translated into music."

"Music?" Sarah Jane looked fascinated. "Yes, I've heard that music and math are rather closely linked. Isn't it true that they are the only two truly universal languages?"

Ten smiled. "And not only on Earth," he said. "But, in any case, that's what your Doctor and I are trying to figure out now. We think if we can identify the song that contains those codes, we can decipher the equations and use them to repair the damage caused the by those transdimensional creatures. The only problem is, the melody was so faint, I'm not sure we'll be able to—"

" Eureka!" Four exclaimed, causing everyone to jump. He spun to face them, his round eyes wide with elation as he thrust a triumphant finger into the air.

"I do believe I've got it! I'm no singer, but tell me if this sounds right to you:

"Turn off your mind, relax and float downstream;  
It is not dying,  
It is not dying.

"Lay down all thoughts, surrender to the void;  
It is shining,  
It is shining.

"Something, something, something, something…

"Something, something else…

" Ignorance, something, something…

"But listen to the color of your dream,  
It is not living,  
It is not living,  
Or play the game "Existence" to the end  
Of the beginning,  
Of the beginning…"

He smiled. 

"What do you think?"

Ten gave him an amazed grin. 

"That's it!" he exclaimed. "Well, mostly. But it should be more than enough to work with."

"Wait-- Hang on."

It was Harry who had spoken, too wrapped up in his thoughts to take offense at his companions' startled looks. Four's song had sparked a faded memory in his head, of long afternoons spent with his nose buried in a textbook, his battered old record player blaring out tunes he barely heard.

"I think I know that song," he said. "Yes, I'm certain I've heard it before. On a record I used to play…I used to listen to it every day after classes…"

He looked up, a sudden, sharp jerk of his head.

" Revolver!" he exclaimed. "Yes! It was the final track of Revolver, the Beatles album!" (2)

Rose gasped. "The Beatles! You're serious?"

"Do you remember its title, Harry?" Sarah Jane asked eagerly.

"Err..." Harry wracked his brain. "It was on side two…" he mused, counting the tracks off on his fingers. "It went 'Good Day Sunshine,' 'And Your Bird Can Sing,' 'For No One,' 'Doctor Robert,'—ah, wait!" he exclaimed. "Tomorrow…something." He frowned. "No… Yes! 'Tomorrow Never Knows,' that's it! That's the song!"

Rose, Sarah Jane, and Harry all wore matching looks of elation, but the two Doctors did not seem to share their excitement. In fact, they seemed rather wary.

"Doctor, what is it?" Sarah Jane asked. "What's wrong?"

"The Beatles..." Four frowned, scrunching his curls between his fingers. "Oh dear… Could it be possible?"

"Could what be possible?" Rose asked, starting to feel a little frustrated. "An' what do the Beatles have to do with block transfer mathematics anyway? Don't tell me they're alien."

Ten nearly laughed. "No, no," he said, and shook his head. "The Beatles were definitely human. The question is: how could a song written on Earth in 1966 contain the mathematical codes to alter reality?"

"And, were those creatures aware of that fact when they staged their attack on the group in 1961," Four added grimly. "Could it be that they are after the codes? If so, what do they plan to do with them? That's the more pressing question, in my opinion."

"I agree," Ten said. "It'd be no good crackin' the code and fixin' the damage only to have them break through the barrier all over again. We have to find out what they're after, discover why they seem to be tracking the Beatles across time. Which means first we have to find them."

"Well, that should be easy enough," Four said, striding up the ramp to the control console with Ten close behind. "We can trace their residual trail from the Cavern. If you boost your scanners to extrapolate their most likely course through time and space—"

"Already done," Ten said, his sonic screwdriver buzzing as he dashed from one panel to another. Glancing at the monitor, he paused, his eyes widening slightly behind his glasses.

"By Rassilon…" he said, and pointed to the monitor display. "That's us! Me, Rose, there--in the TARDIS."

"What?"

Four frowned, nudging him over slightly so he could get a better view.

"Why, you're directly in the path of those creatures."

Ten looked enlightened.

"So, that's what it was!" he said. "And here I was thinking it was a rogue singularity. Rose!" he exclaimed. "Remember that free fall, just before we landed in London?"

"Yeah, jus' before we watched them filmin' A Hard Day's Night," she said. "What about it?"

"I believe we just discovered what it was that knocked us off course. Look here," he waved her closer to the monitor.

Curious to see, Sarah Jane also came over to hover at his elbow.

"This line here represents the Vortex," Ten explained. "This is us now, holding position here, in this track. And this," he pointed to a bluish dot a few tracks down, "is us this morning. See here?" He indicated a disturbingly active collection of mauve waves cutting across the tracks at an alarming angle. "Those are the creatures. When they pass us--oop, an' there we go!"

The waves swept past the bluish dot, causing it to quiver and vanish. A few moments later, a single mauve wave squiggled its way into a new track, followed immediately by the blue dot representing Ten's TARDIS. The dot flashed into existance a short distance behind an identical blue dot that was only just leaving the Vortex as they appeared.

"Why, that was my TARDIS..." Four frowned, then gasped in realization. "The alarm on my time-path indicator! That was you! You and that creature!"

"Seems so!" Ten smiled. "Well, that's one mystery solved, at least. Well, two if you count your flashy indicator."

"But..." Rose frowned.

"What is it?" Ten asked.

"Well, we must have spent more than half an hour in London with the Beatles before we chased that creature to Liverpool," she said. "How come that dot showed up again so quickly?"

"Yes," Sarah Jane added. "And if that creature you chased from London created all those other creatures in Liverpool, how could they have knocked you off course this morning?

"It's the Vortex," Ten explained with a shrug. "And we're in a time machine. Any sort of timing is therefore immaterial."

Rose still didn't seem completely satisfied, but she let it go, turning her attention back to the monitor.

"Hey, look," she said. "I think the creatures are heading for that big brown...what is that thing?"

"It's a planet," Four said off handedly, then immediately did a double take.

"Erm, Doctor," he said, tapping Ten on the shoulder. "I need you to confirm something for me."

"OK, what?" Ten asked.

"According to your memories, which I had the opportunity to peruse during our recent mental link, the planet Logopolis succombed to entropy and vanished from existance several centuries ago, am I right?"

"Yeah. Most cultures nowadays believe it's just a myth, if they've even heard of it at all. Why?"

"Look at that planet's coordinates," Four told him. Ten gave him a curious glance, but complied.

His jaw dropped.

"Impossible..."

"Isn't it just." Four smirked.

Sarah Jane frowned up at him.

"What is it, Doctor?" she asked.

Four's smirk broadened into a smile.

"Those creatures we've been tracking," he said. "They're heading directly for a planet that, according to the good Doctor here, should not exist."

"He's right." Ten swallowed, looking terribly pale behind his freckles. "That planet...it's Logopolis!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> 1) Reference to the Series 2 episode "School Reunion," featuring the Tenth Doctor.
> 
> 2) The Beatles, Revolver, Capitol Records, August 5, 1966.


	19. Chapter Seventeen

Partly Dave was on patrol. With a rifle on his back, a pistol at his hip, and a knife strapped to his thigh, he looked every inch the ready soldier. Yet inside where no one could see, beneath the helmet and the standard mold-green uniform, so pale it was almost gray, the fifteen-year-old's heart was hammering with nerves. Every sound made him jump—a flying squirrel rustling the branches of the scruffy pines, a roadrunner searching for lizards among the dry, salty rocks, the whining buzz-click of a distant insect. That was why Partly's yelp was so embarrassingly loud when a crackle of static suddenly burst from the radio in his satchel.

 

"Dave?" a man's voice fizzed, the static cracking and popping as he spoke. "Partly, lad, how's it going out there? You've missed your second check-in call."

Partly glanced at his wristwatch. "Cragesmure!" he swore, and fumbled for the radio's 'speak' button. "Sorey, I'm sorey Frenk. Sir!" he corrected quickly. "It's just, I've bean so busty watt wit all the, er, the patrollin' an gnat. Ewe no…" he flailed helplessly. "Guest I lust trick off the thyme, sir. Won't happyn against."

"Well, you were only a few minutes late," the man's voice crackled kindly. "We'll let it slide this once. But be sure you call in on time from now on. And I mean on the button, lad, you hear me?"

"I doe. I meen, I will. Yessir."

Partly winced. Oh yeah, his first patrol was going great…

"Good lad," the man fizzed. "Signing off."

"Dave out," Partly replied, and released the 'speak' button, rolling onto his back with a sigh.

Ten minutes until his next check-in. He had to remember that. Ten minutes exactly. Well… He glanced at his watch. Seven minutes and eighty-four seconds. He had been late, after all.

Suddenly, he sat up, a wave of uncertainty washing over him. Check-ins were supposed to be ten minutes apart. Ten minutes 'on the button,' as Frenk had said. But, did that mean ten minutes from the last time he'd checked in or ten minutes from the last time he was supposed to have checked in? Partly didn't know.

He was just debating whether it would only make things worse if he checked in to ask, when a strange shimmer caught the edge of his vision, making him blink. Startled, he stood up slowly, brushing the white and black gravel from his uniform. Salt and pepper, the locals termed the stuff, unique to the foothills that lined the border between Headland and Pepperland. But Partly didn't have time to muse about geology. The whitish flicker was flashing again, and this time it seemed more present, less like a trick of the light.

Cautiously, Partly pulled his rifle from its holster and bent low, creeping quietly past the rough and twisted trees. The pulsing shimmer was unmistakable now, and there was a sound. A weird whirring, whooshing sound, unlike anything Partly had ever heard before. A rustling wind started up a moment later, disturbing the thorny underbrush at Partly's feet and raising a cloud of salty dust.

Panicked, the teenaged soldier stumbled back a few steps, his eyes beginning to tear from the dust. Wiping them clear with his sleeve, he looked again, only to gasp in alarm. A new boulder was standing where a gravelly clearing used to be. It was a very bouldery-looking boulder, whitish gray and sprinkled with black. In fact, it blended so well with the other boulders that, for a moment, Partly wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him. Couldn't that boulder have been there all along? But no, no, there was no way he could have imagined something like that.

His fingers were white where they clenched the rifle, and his face felt cold. Should he call this in? What would he say? That he'd like to report an out-of-place boulder? Partly groaned and ran a nervous hand through his hair, only to discover it was damp under his helmet. He should wait, yeah. Observe—that's what old Frenk would tell him. Determine the nature of the threat, then call it in. He could do that.

As it turned out, Partly didn't have all that long to wait. Barely two minutes after its sudden apparition, the boulder began to change. A glowing slit appeared at its center, growing wider and larger until it had taken the shape of a glowing rectangular doorway.

Partly swallowed, blinking hard as he trained his rifle on the door. There were shadows moving about behind the light, tall person-shaped shadows that soon became five person-shaped people blinking in the sunlight as the door behind them slid closed. Three men and two women, all of them pretty much normal looking except for their bizarre, old-fashioned clothing. One of the men was waving a gray stick around, the blue light at its tip barely noticeable against the whitish rocks. The other four were examining the boulder, pointing and exclaiming as though they were astonished to see it there.

The teenaged soldier shuddered and fell back, dropping his rifle on the ground. This was too weird. He couldn't wait any longer. He had to report this now.

Partly was just digging into his satchel for his radio when a shadow fell over him. Looking up, he saw it was one of the strangers, the tall one with the colorful scarf.

"Hello down there," the man said, his large white teeth splitting his face into a broad smile. "Have you come to greet us, then?"

Partly swallowed, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Quickly scrabbling for his gun, the teenager stammered, "I—I—I'm a soljer. Ewe half two comb wit me. All off ewe. Ewe halve toby me priceynobs."

"Do we now?" The curly haired man smirked, though not unkindly. "Priceynobs, you say. Am I to assume you mean 'prisoners'?"

"Tat's watt I sayd," Partly said.

"How intriguing," the tall man said thoughtfully. "And, actually, not a bad idea. In fact, it could save us quite a bit of time."

He grinned brightly.

"I know, I'll call the others over, shall I? Then you can bring us to your secret base or hideout or whatever you have set up and we can all have a friendly chat with your superiors. Sound good?"

Partly could only stare up at the strange, imposing man from his awkward position on the ground. This wasn't how prisoners were supposed to react. They were supposed to fight or argue or…or something! But this man actually seemed eager to go with him.

Partly wasn't sure what to do. He was frozen, torn between going for his gun or his radio. As if realizing the boy's dilemma, the strange man reached into his pocket and held out a small white bag.

"Here, have a jelly baby," he said, eating one himself in demonstration. "It'll help, believe me."

Too flabbergasted to protest, Partly surprised himself by doing as the strange man said, wondering at the peculiar texture and flavor of the little red sweet.

"Good lad!" The tall man beamed, and helped him to his feet. "Do you have a name?"

"I—I'm Partly," the boy said, replacing his rifle in its holster. "Partly Dave."

The tall man raised an amused eyebrow.

"Partly, eh? I'm the Doctor. Now—and I do so love saying this: Take me to your leader!"  
"This planet is impossible. Nothing about these readings makes sense! All this psychic interference… And the temporal static is off the charts!"

Four shot his counterpart an exasperated glance. The elder Time Lord's mood seemed to have improved somewhat since changing back into his trademark brown suit and overcoat, but he was still acting too uptight for Four's comfort. Even now, Ten's attention was still focused on his sonic screwdriver. He was barely even noticing the landscape as their little group followed the rather nervous Partly through the sparse and gnarled pine forest. Four frowned.

"Not making sense is not the same as impossible," he said. "Clearly this planet is possible, or we would not be walking on it, would we?"

Ten glared.

"Don't be pedantic. You know exactly what I mean."

"No, not exactly. But I do get the idea."

He shook his head.

"Listen old chap," he said. "There are times when you just have to put the gadgets away and allow the clues to lead you to them. I'll show you."

He snatched the screwdriver from Ten's hand and stuffed it in the startled Time Lord's coat pocket.

"Now," he said. "Look around you. Do you notice anything singular about those hills?"

Ten stiffened. "What do you think you're—"

"No. Look." Four stopped short and pointed past Harry's head to the gray hills above the trees. "Your trouble is you're focusing on the forest when you should examine the trees. What does that hill look like to you?"

Sarah Jane gasped.

"Why, it's a foot!" she exclaimed. "A giant stone foot!"

"And there's another!" Rose pointed. "And another over there."

"Why, they're all feet." Harry frowned, looking up and down the range of hills stretching out into the distance. "How very odd." He shook his head in amazement. "Must have taken centuries to carve all that."

"Carve?" their young guide asked, willing to pause their progress in order to follow their conversation.

Harry glanced at him.

"Yes, you know. Carve. Sculpt. Chip bits and pieces away to form a shape."

"Theyes hills were knot carved," the soldier said.

"Then how did they come to be shaped like feet?" asked Sarah Jane.

"Why, thear Foothills," the soldier explained, as if this were obvious. "Ow eels shoed theye luck?"

"How else indeed," Four mused, rubbing his chin with a very slight smile.

Partly frowned in confusion.

"Butt, ow cud ewe knot no the Foothills?" he said. "Theye mark the bardor off Pepperland! Effry booty nose that!"

"Pepperland?" Rose repeated curiously.

"Hm," Four said, his eyes focused on the soldier. "Partly, what is beyond those hills?"

"Why, the Headlands, oaf coarse! Ear, I'll shew ewe. Fallow me."

Waving them after him, the boy clambered his way nimbly up the side of one of the foot-shaped hills.

The summit was surprisingly flat and smooth, with plenty of room for the six of them to spread out and take in the incredible scene that stretched out before them. Smooth, rounded domes of what looked like quartz crystal covered the land, shimmering in the sunlight. Here and there, where the crystal refracted the light, a rainbow would leap up, or fill a dome with delicate, shifting colors. It was a sight unlike anything the two Time Lords and their companions had ever seen.

"My God," Rose breathed, closely echoed by Sarah's, "Goodness! They're—they're really—"

"Heads," Harry finished, wide-eyed with startled wonder. "Thousands and thousands of…heads! You can see it. Noses, eyes, lips, ears…"

"Amazing," Ten said, his sharp eyes scanning each dome in turn. "All of them, natural crystal formations. But the shape is so—"

"Impossible?" Four smirked.

"Let's go with unlikely," Ten said. "And for it to be repeated like that... There's something going on here. Some kind of intelligence at work. There has to be. Things like this—they just don't occur in the natural world!"

"I quite agree with you, old man," Four said. "What we need is some solid answers. And that means—"

"Quite right," Ten agreed. "Partly," he said, "please lead on. The sooner we talk to someone in charge—"

"The sooner we can eat, I hope," Rose broke in. "I don't know about you lot, but I'm famished. I haven't had a bite since breakfast!"

"Awl priceynobs are allotted fife grahams off new-tree-ants itch our," Partly said helpfully. "Butt I'm shore yule git solid rations. Ewe sea, weave never rally hack priceynobs beeflower."

He shrugged a little self consciously, then gestured for them to keep moving.

"Comb alog," he said. "It's knot fur now."

Rose made a confused face, but she followed gamely enough as the little party started making its way back down to the gravel and pines below. Once they reached the bottom, though, she pulled Ten aside.

"Doctor," she said. "Is there a reason that boy is talkin' so strangely? I thought the TARDIS was supposed to translate everything."

"She does, Rose," Ten said. "But in this case, there's nothing for her to translate."

Rose frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, believe it or not, that boy is speaking English. It's a peculiar variant, to be sure, but it's English just the same."

Four glanced over at them, his brow furrowed deeply in thought as they walked.

"I think I'm beginning to understand…" he muttered.

Ten raised his eyebrows.

"Oh? Have a theory, do you?"

But, Four just shrugged.

"Let's get where we're going first," he said. "Then we'll see about theories."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference:
> 
> Pepperland, the Foothills, and the Headlands were all adapted from the animated Beatles movie Yellow Submarine.


	20. Chapter Eighteen

"Excuse me. Yes, hello, yes, pardon me. Will you let me pass! That's right, you heard me, I said MOVE! SHIFT! Budge up against the wall the lot of you, I'm coming through!"

The buzzing tunnel quieted down to a concerned murmur as the various groups and errand runners clotting up the narrow thoroughfare edged closer to the curving, chalky walls. It was uncharacteristic of Frenk Fingletoad to let his frustrations show so vocally. Normally, their leader was a quiet, thoughtful sort, so wrapped up in his plans and worries he barely noticed where he was walking.

Mary Duffield poked her head out from the telephone office, her round young face pinched and pale. Like many of the others, she knew exactly what was eating at old Frenk. In fact, she suspected she knew even better because that same concern was eating at her too.

"Izzit Partly, sir?" she asked nervously, scurrying up behind him as he stalked through the egg-shaped doorway leading to control headquarters.

Frenk growled, brusquely waving the communications officer, Leftenant Sydnees, away so he could take his place on his uncomfortable green chair.

Sydnees jumped up with a polite nod, but shared a subtle look with Mary before turning to continue his work at a different console. Oblivious, Frenk reached over the bulky, slanted control panel, snatched up the bulky headset and slid it over his tousled, graying hair.

"Young fool," Frenk grunted. "Still hasn't called in. Worse still, he's stopped answering our hails. We'll have to risk a search party if this keeps up."

Flicking the 'hail' switch, he snapped into the square microphone: "Partly! Private Partly Dave do you read me? Come in, Partly! Damn it!"

Switching off again, he slammed his palm against the mud brown console and pushed his chair back with a horrible squeal of metal on tile.

Mary winced, but knew better than to speak.

"I knew he was too young for this." Frenk shook his head, angrier at himself than Partly. "Why didn't I listen to my gut? After what happened with his brother…"

"Sir, yew canned flame yershelf fur tat," Mary said quietly. "End I'm shore Partly's just fined. He's probely lust trick off the thyme against, or mebbee—"

"I know, I know, Mary. I know..." Frenk sighed. "All I can say is, that boy had better be all right. If he's gone and got himself shot to death, I swear I'll kill him."

If Frenk was trying to loosen the tension in the room, it didn't work. Mary hunched her shoulders and rubbed her arms, as if she were cold.

"Yes, well," she muttered, low enough so the old man couldn't hear. "Knot iff eye git too him fist."

*******

"Knot mush feather now, fellers. Eats jus town thees wave."

The motley crew of time travelers gathered around Partly, looking to where the young soldier was pointing.

Not far from their position, a narrow, rocky ravine led to a slim, dark opening in the chalky cliffside. The steep white cliffs were only about a fifteen minute walk from the Foothills, but the landscape was already markedly different from the strange desert-like environment they'd left. Here, the ground was springy with moss and tender grasses, and the sound and smell of the sea wafted in the air, mingling with the mineral tang of warm sunlight on chalky soil.

"Wear it the very edge off Pepperland rite new," Partly told them. "Iff oui war two climb tea cliffs, wee colt sea the line wear the Sea of Monsters meats the Sea of Holes" (1).

The travelers shared a somewhat puzzled glance.

"What do you mean by a 'line'?" Harry asked, frowning in confusion. "How can you see a line where two seas meet? It's just water on water, isn't it?"

"How can you have a Sea of Holes?" Rose questioned.

"What kind of monsters?" Sarah asked, looking around a bit warily.

Partly looked just as confused as his prisoners.

"The lyon," he repeated. "Yew no, wear tea see mitts the ski. Sea of Monsters..." He pointed down past the ravine where the sparkle of sun on water could just be glimpsed through the trees, then he turned his finger to the sky. "Sea of Holes."

There was a brief pause while the group stared, uncomprehending, at the clear sky. Then, Ten's jaw dropped.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "You mean the horizon! The line where the sea meets the sky."

Partly nodded.

"Thee horizontal, yes," he said.

Four, Sarah, and Harry looked enlightened, but Rose was still confused.

"So, the sky is the Sea of Holes, then?" she asked.

"That's rite."

She made a face.

"OK, Sea of Monsters, I can understand that," she said. "Fish, squid, sea serpents, fine. But why do you call the sky the Sea of Holes?"

"Wull…" Partly shrugged a little helplessly. "I dunk new. Lock up."

"Lock up?" Rose was beginning to get frustrated. "Lock what? What do you mean?!"

The two Doctors shared an amused smirk.

"Rose," Ten tapped his friend's shoulder and pointed to the sky. "Look up."

"Oh my," Sarah Jane said. "Will you look at that."

"What?" Rose frowned, following her gaze. "Oh!"

"I say," Harry agreed.

The previously unblemished blue sky was now dotted with what, at first glance, appeared to be black clouds slowly blowing past. But these weren't the cottony mounds of frozen condensation that floated over the Earth. These were actual holes in the sky; inexplicable circular gaps through which Rose could see the stars.

"Impossible," Four breathed, his mind struggling to work out the puzzling sight.

Ten raised a superior eyebrow.

"Oh, I don't know," he said, crossing his arms. "We're looking at it, aren't we? It's pretty difficult to watch an impossible phenomenon."

"I agree." Four's voice was deep and serious. "Partly," he said, "Let's go. The sooner we speak with your superiors, the better."

"Welt, wear actshelly just outslide me base," Partly told them. "Weight hare end aisle announce us two three guards."

Rose shook her head as they watched the young soldier hop over a fallen log and skid his way down the side of the ravine.

"Not a word," she said. "You don't think everyone here talks like that, do you?"

Harry gave a sympathetic shrug, but his eyes were fixed on Partly, who was now standing still just outside the cave entrance.

Without warning, a male voice shouted:

"She came in through the bathroom window!"

"Protected by a silver spoon!" Partly responded, raising his arms (2).

There was a brief pause, then two tall soldiers were suddenly pacing toward him. To the group huddled above the ravine, it seemed as though they had melted straight out of the background. Their uniforms were the same dusty, moldy color as Partly's, but their bearing and expressions were far more military.

"Private Dave," the taller of the two snapped. "Wear haft ewe bean! Yew wear subpost to reapport in neely halb an our igloo! Thee old man ist furryroast!"

Partly winced a little, but kept his perfect attention stance.

"Aye maid a find, out bye the Foothills," he said.

"End why then did yew flail two reapport eat in?" the second soldier demanded.

"Well, eye thot—"

"Ewe didn't think!" the taller soldier snapped. "Effin yewd thot, ewe wood haft called in on thyme! Shew mi yore radio, boy!"

Partly scrabbled in his satchel for the blocky device. The taller soldier snatched it from his hand, then glared down at it with a fierce scowl.

"Eat's off!" he exclaimed, throwing it straight into Partly's chest.

Partly released a small 'oof,' but managed to catch the radio before it fell to the ground.

"Know wonder thee old man coolant tintacked yew," the second soldier said. "He's bean going mad whirring aboot you, you fool boy!"

"Watt whirr ewe doing out thier, eh?" the tall soldier demanded. "Tanking a hyke? Admirroring the screenery?"

"No, no, notting lake tat!" Partly protested. "Eat was thee strangers, ewe sea. Eye found them mere a balder, ent I—"

"Enough!" the tall soldier snapped. "Year conning wit us, young man. Wear gong two take yew inn personably too cee thee old man. Heel no how too deal whist the likes off yew."

The two soldiers each grabbed one of Partly's shoulders and began pushing him toward the cave. Partly dug his heels into the chalky dirt, struggling to shake them off.

"No, weight! Weight!" he exclaimed. "Aye bought thee priceynobs whitney!"

"Watt?" The taller soldier frowned.

"Their hare!" Partly said. "The strangers eye tolled yew aboot! Eye brot them whitney, end new there weighting fur me up their!"

He pointed to the trees.

Gesturing for the others to follow, Four stepped out into the light, offering the startled soldiers a little wave.

"Hello!" he called down with a smile. "Incredible weather we're having, wouldn't you say? Such lovely clouds."

"Hoo ist that?" the taller soldier asked.

"Und why dost hee tock sew stringy?" the other added.

"Don't mind him," Ten said. "It's just his way. We've come to see the old man. Is he available to meet with us?"

Leaving Partly with a glare, the two soldiers took a moment to converse among themselves. Finally, they looked up.

"Ewe can comb down," the taller man said, making a show of resting his rifle on his shoulder. "Bit no flingy bustness."

"Oh no, wouldn't dream of it," Harry assured them, struggling to suppress a snigger. "Would we, Sarah?"

"Oh no, furthest thing from our minds," she said, still trying to puzzle out the man's meaning.

"Comb alog, then," the soldiers said. "Iff eye no thee old man, he's probely steel inn the comm centre tying too contacked yew."

He glared at Partly, who looked rather cowed. Taking the young soldier by the arm, he led the way into the cave. The shorter soldier lagged behind to take up the rear, his rifle aimed and ready.

"Here," Four said, slipping the stem of a blue, daisy-like flower into the gun's thin barrel as he passed. "That looks much better."

The soldier stared.

"What?" the Time Lord said. "I'm only trying to keep in the spirit of things."

"Juiced move," the soldier snapped, and followed him into the cave. "Safe the jokes fur someone hoo cares."

*******

The commotion in the tunnels at Partly's appearance was overwhelming. The two guards stood by with matching scowls while the young man was hugged in succession by practically every girl from the telephone office, followed by Mary and, finally, Frenk himself.

"Popular chap, what?" Harry commented as they waited for the excitement to die down enough for the crowd to realize that Partly hadn't exactly entered the base alone.

"It's like he's their lost prince or something," Rose said, and scowled. "What is this place, anyway? Some kind of secret underground base?"

"That is precisely what it is, and we'd like for it to remain a secret."

Rose turned her head to see a formidable gray haired man making his way toward them through the gradually dispersing crowd.

Ten held out his hand.

"Hello," he said. "I'm the Doctor and these are my friends Rose Tyler, Sarah Jane Smith, Harry Sullivan and—"

He glanced at his taller counterpart.

"You can call me the Doctor too," Four said, also reaching out to shake the man's hand. "Nice place you have here. Reminds me of those tunnels they have running through the cliffs beneath Dover Castle. Why, you've even got the graffiti."

He turned to face the lettering carved into the smooth white wall.

"Chalk walls do give themselves wonderfully to this kind of thing, don't they? The Dover tunnels sport inscriptions dating all the way back to Napoleon—have you ever heard of Napoleon? French chap, bit of a megalomaniac, had a brief stint in the early nineteenth century trying to take over the world? Ah, but all that's beside the point. What does this say, now…"

He leaned in closer. The carefully carved words were surprisingly worn and slightly discolored, as if they were often touched or rubbed.

"Why, it looks like song lyrics, am I right?"

The large man frowned.

"Hardly," he said. "These are excerpts from our most sacred texts. We inscribed them into the chalk walls to provide us with hope and good fortune."

"Ah. Well then, I do apologize for my presumptions," Four said, looking anything but apologetic.

The man gave him a strangely inscrutable look.

"There is more in your words than their meaning," he said. "You are a formidable fisherman, Doctor Too, to have brought in a catch so quickly."

Four looked startled, then miffed, then pleased.

"Let me guess," he said. "You're the 'old man' to whom everyone's been referring."

"Frenk Fingletoad," he said, acknowledging them all with his polite nod. Turning to the guards he said, "You two can resume your posts. I'll deal with Partly later."

"Yessir," the guards chorused, turning on their heels with a smart salute.

Frenk sighed and glanced through the doorway to the telephone office, where Partly and Mary were somehow managing to carry on a giggly chat over the mumble of voices and buzzing phones.

"Teenagers," he commented, more to himself than the travelers. "Sometimes I think the Great Philosopher sent them to test how far we can be pushed before we break."

Ten glanced over to Rose with a small smile.

"I can sympathize," he said. "In my experience, I've found they're often so eager to find acceptance as adults that they tend to ask for more responsibility than they can handle."

Rose's eyes turned sharp.

"Oi! Jus' what are you implyin', Doctor?"

"Just go with it," he hummed under his breath. Out loud, he continued, "Rose here, she's only nineteen and always begging to take on more responsibilities. She assured me she could handle the supply inventory, yet today we weren't twenty minutes out when she realized she'd forgotten to pack our rations."

"I'll get you for this," Rose muttered between her teeth as she gave Frenk a theatrically sheepish smile. "I'm not sure how I forgot, it jus' sort of happened," she said, using the same tone she'd often used on her mother when she'd forgotten to unload the dishwasher or do the laundry.

Frenk nodded.

"That's just how it is with young Partly. Well, if you lot are hungry, it would be impolite of me not to offer you tea. We don't have much, mind, but—"

"The Doctor and I are fine for now," Four assured him. "It's the younger ones who've suffered most."

"Then I'll have Mary tend to them," the gray-haired man said. "You two can come with me to my office."

"Please—" Sarah Jane spoke up, looking pointedly at Four. "If you don't mind, I'd rather like to stick with you."

"No, you'd better go with Mary, Sarah," Four told her, and winked.

Sarah scowled slightly, but nodded.

"Understood," she said reluctantly.

"Good girl," Four said, and smiled.

"Right, then." Frenk nodded. "I'll get you three squared away with Mary and then you and I," he looked straight at the Doctors, "are going to have a long chat."

*******

Frenk's office was a large, square hollow several levels below the base entrance. It was lit with dull, electric bulbs that cast more shadows than light and gave the place an eerie, ghostly feel.

"Well here we are," the grizzled man said. "Only the best for us rebels, right?"

"Yes, it's very, um, cozy," Four commented, glancing around at the few shelves, tables, and chairs that furnished the room.

Frenk gave him a wry look.

"So," he continued, slipping behind his desk. "What brings you lot to our neck of the woods, eh? Doing a bit of spying are you? Did old Lord Hearble send you round to find out what makes us tick? Or was it Alec, perhaps?"

"Oh, we're not spies." Four grinned. "We're more sort of travelers."

"Travelers..." Frenk nodded gamely, his hands folded beneath his chin. "Not spies."

Ten raised his chin.

"I couldn't help noticing, Mr. Fingletoad, that your way of speaking is far less…demotic…than your friend Partly's, for example."

"You're very observant, Doctor," Frenk said, and smiled. "I could say the same for you and your friends. And it's Frenk."

"Frenk," Ten acknowledged. "My apologies."

"Not necessary," Frenk said. "I'm not offended. But we're not here to talk about me, are we? We're here to find out more about you. It's clear to me that none of you are native to Pepperland. If you were, you would never have questioned that inscription by the door. So, if you're not spies and you're not defectors come to join our ranks, what exactly were you doing in the Foothills?"

Ten and Four shared a significant look, then pulled out a couple of chairs and scooted up close to Frenk's desk.

"Who carved those Foothills," Ten asked.

Frenk frowned.

"No one did," he said.

"And the Headlands," Four said. "They're a natural formation too?"

"As natural as the trees themselves. What's all this about?"

"And the sky," Ten added. "Have you always been able to see the stars during the day?"

"Of course! What kind of questions are these?"

"Believe it or not, Frenk," Four said with grim sincerity, "your answers to these questions may provide the clue we need to save this planet, and the universe, from total annihilation."

"Ah, right. I understand now," Frenk said. "You're mad, the pair of you."

"Are we?" Ten countered. "I'm going to risk the guess that you've been offworld—for several decades if your speech patterns are any indication. That would imply you've seen other planets, known other cultures. Considering all that, can you honestly tell me there's anything natural about your world?"

Frenk straightened.

"I don't know what you mean."

Noting the man was growing defensive, Four started on a different track.

"What do you call this world?" he asked offhandedly.

"What? Liddypool Prime," Frenk said. "How could you not know that?"

"Well, we're not from around here, you see. Our charts list this planet under a different name. Logopolis. Ever heard of it?"

Frenk's eyes slid to the side.

"No," he said.

"Hm..." Four frowned. "And what of your history? Were your distant ancestors by any chance from a little blue world called Earth?"

"No, they were from Sirius Major. Our ancestors came to this planet fleeing religious persecution. Not that it's done us much good," he muttered darkly. "We've been fighting among ourselves for the past thirty years, ever since the King and his aide…"

He clenched his jaw and looked away.

"Well, what's past is past. But, like our ancestors, the beliefs of our people still run too deep to allow us to settle or compromise. We're a stubborn race. Yet, for all our differences, we all believe in the Great Philosopher's teachings. How well we follow them is another matter."

The two Doctors shared a significant look.

"The Great Philosopher?" Ten questioned.

"What we call the authors of our most sacred book," Frenk explained. "There were actually four of them: Pullmycart Knee, The Hairy Son, The Ringed Star and, of course, the great Jon Len-on."

The Time Lords' eyes widened enormously. It was all they could do not to shout out loud. This had to be it! The link they'd been searching for linking the transdimensional creatures to the Beatles. The pair straightened in their chairs, a surge of triumph swelling in their hearts as Frenk went on.

"Under the guidance of the Man on the Flaming Pie, they created a great body of work," he said (4). "The Beatles, it's called. It's basically a collection of stories and poems designed to guide us along the path of life, but lately..."

He sighed and slumped slightly in his chair, shooting his guests a scrutinizing look.

"I don't know what it is, but for all your strangeness, there's something…sincere…about you two," he said, and scowled. "Still, I can tell there's much you're not telling me. You came here, to this planet, for a reason, and it wasn't to find me."

"You're a very shrewd man, Frenk." Four smiled slightly. "I like that."

"And you're good at avoiding answers," Frenk shot back. Then he shrugged. "Oh, well, if we're going to get into this, I may as well tell you everything. Call me crazy for trusting a pair of aliens, but, hey, what can it hurt, eh?"

"If anything, the more you tell us the more likely it is we'll be able to help you," Ten assured him, struggling not to look too eager. "We weren't kidding when we told you the universe was at stake. The information you give us now may mean the difference between our continued existence, and the end of reality as we know it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> 1) The Sea of Monsters and the Sea of Holes were inspired by the Beatles' animated movie Yellow Submarine.
> 
> 2) "She Came in Through the Bathroom Window" by Paul McCartney, from the album Abbey Road released 26 September, 1969.
> 
> 3) In 1961, John Lennon told a reporter that the name "Beatles" came in a vision in which a man on a flaming pie told them "From this day on you are Beatles with an A."


	21. Chapter Nineteen

"Mmmph." Sarah Jane swallowed her last bite of what she hoped was fried tofu and followed it with a long sip from her deep purple fizzy drink. "You know, these rations of yours aren't half bad. What do you call this drink?"

"Snail Pop," Mary said, sipping from her own mug.

Rose nearly choked.

"Snail Pop?" she repeated, hoping she had misunderstood. "As in snails? With the shells and the slime?"

"O, yes," Mary said. "We colic tem iffry morning off tea rocks buy thee shore."

Rose blinked.

"Seriously? So, we've been drinkin' snail juice? Fizzy snail juice?"

"Snails art hi in proteen," Partly told her, a little confused by her reaction. "Unt berry sweet. Columbined mit carrocks and plums, hour Snail Pop hats many new-tree-ants."

Mary nodded. "Yes, it's vary gut fur yew. Evan thee shells taste gut. They add x-tra sweetnest und make thee drank fizz asp they dissolve."

"Ah." Harry discreetly pushed his own mug of bubbling snail juice a little further away. "Well, as fascinating—I mean, delicious—as this meal has been, I think I'm in the mood for a walk. There's nothing like a brisk walk after a good lunch, wouldn't you say?"

"Yep, nothin' like," Rose said, catching on at once. "'S quite the custom where we're from. Perhaps…if it's OK…you two could give us a bit of a tour?"

Partly and Mary shared a debating glance. Guessing by their faces which way they were leaning, Sarah Jane jumped in with a little push.

"Oh, a tour would be lovely," she said. "I for one am very curious to see more of how you lot live down here in these tunnels. So, is it all right?"

"Eye donut sea thee harm," Mary said.

"Yeah, shore." Partly smiled.

Harry smiled back.

"Great," he said. "Then, if you girls have finished…?"

"Oh, I'm done," Rose confirmed, setting down her spork.

"And me," Sarah Jane said. "Where do we put our plates?"

"Jilly wilt bee balm too collect thames," Mary said, noting with a smile that, despite their questions about the food, most of the newcomers' plates were empty.

"Now, yew no oui canned shew yew iffrytang," Partly said. "Mooch off the tonsils art off lime its two strangers."

"That's all right," Sarah Jane said. Seeing Rose and Harry looked a bit lost, she added, "We understand we won't be able to see everything. If a tunnel's off limits, it's off limits."

"Rite ten." Partly gestured for the group to follow him into the corridor. "Lits goo."

*******

Frenk Fingletoad was an intelligent man. He was a scholar, a seeker, a man who had spent his life traveling the galaxy investigating the questions that sprang from life's great answers. Over the course of his travels, he had encountered amazing technologies, strange alien foods, and even stranger schools of thought. But never had he encountered anything as outlandish as the story the two Doctors were telling him now.

"Collapsing realities?" he repeated, scowling at his guests from behind his desk. "Catastrophic entropy levels rising on a universal scale? All this because of some rampaging horde of transdimensional creatures you, you 'Time Lords' say must have originated from this planet? My planet?"

"I'd say he has a grasp of the basics," Four spoke from under his hat. The colorful Time Lord was sprawled comfortably in his chair with his crossed feet propped on Frenk's desk. Ten, by contrast, was standing, fiddling with his remote scanner as he leaned against the desk's edge.

"Let me tell you something about your planet," he said, turning his eyes from the scanner to Frenk's face. "It's not really a planet at all. It's a circuit board, a planet-sized computer."

"What?" Frenk said, starting to get irritated. "What the Fool do you mean?"

"Logopolis," Four put in, snatching his hat from his face and sitting up. "I—rather, we," he included Ten, "thought it had been destroyed long ago. Killed off, vanished by entropy. But it seems that, thanks to my counterpart's intervention after the Time War, the Logopolitan computer was restarted along with the universe, only without the Logopolitans to run it. All these years it's been sitting dormant, awaiting a programmer to guide it on its mission."

"A programmer it thought it found when your lot made landfall here to escape religious persecution," Ten finished, looking enlightened. "That explains this place to a T. The planet's core program must have responded to your ancestors' brain waves, essentially terraforming itself to fit their ideals, their dreams of a better world. But…"

Ten began to pace across the room, his thoughts racing.

"But none of you have been trained. Without knowledge of the block transfer equations to control and focus… Yes…yes, yes! That's it!" he exclaimed, his bright eyes growing manic as he raked his fingers through his hair. "The program's tuned itself to your beliefs, your brain patterns, but you don't know how to focus its power. The program's running, but it can't carry out its mission!"

"Which is?" Frenk questioned.

"Manipulating matter and energy—reality itself—on a sub-quantum level to slow and even reverse universal entropy." Ten rattled the words off so quickly, even Four needed a moment to catch them. "But the program's stuck, 's been stuck for centuries, its scope limited to this world alone. So what does it do? It begins to instigate, to manipulate, to provoke a search for someone who can help it expand! And with your lot so Beatle-mad, logically it must have looked to the Beatles for the answer and 'upgraded' its running codes to be compatible with the new operating system: namely, your minds and the Beatles' music. Frenk!" he bellowed, practically beside himself with excitement.

"What?"

The poor man looked completely lost and even a little frightened. Realizing this, Ten forced himself to tone it down a notch.

"Frenk, when did the troubles on your world start? The factions, the civil war, all of it?"

"The war's been going on for thirty-one years," he said, looking warily from one Time Lord to the other. "But the troubles…that's been more like fifty. Ever since those archaeologists dug up that old archive chip."

"Archive chip!" Ten nodded. "Good, that's good. What archive chip?"

Frenk looked uncomfortable.

"Well, it was badly damaged so it can't be properly dated," he said. "But essentially, that chip has been the direct cause of all our present difficulties. To be honest, the data on it is nothing short of heretical, but it has many people convinced."

"What data?" Four pressed. "What's on the chip?"

Frenk released a reluctant sigh.

"The data indicates the Beatles were not as cohesive a unit as the Traditionalists would have us believe," he admitted. "It provides evidence of a break, a split, after which each of the four Great Philosophers went his separate way. These new writings are extensive, and many scholars and ministers began to incorporate them into their teachings. They called themselves Imaginists, and they gained thousands of converts before the ruling Traditionalists began their crackdown. The King—King Ann XV—gave the order for Imaginist leaders to be imprisoned without trial. Under his direction, copies of Imaginist texts were burned publicly, in the streets. Such an abuse of power had never been known on Liddypool Prime, and the people took it badly. Even the king's own guards turned against him before the end. With the backing of the people, Imaginist leaders Alec Danoota and Lord Eric Hearble ultimately staged a coup. It was meant to be peaceful. The king was to be arrested and tried before a jury of his citizens."

"What went wrong?" Ten asked.

Frenk's expression turned cold.

"Nobody knows," he said. "Not for sure, at any rate. Traditionalists say King Ann was murdered, beaten to death by the mob…along with his one faithful aide. My own sister. Kakky. And that was the start. The King and Kakky disappeared in the morning, and by nightfall the whole world was at war. The Imaginists and the Traditionalists have been at each other's throats ever since with no hope of talks or compromise."

Four stroked his chin, scanning Frenk's face with unnerving intensity.

"The King and your sister… You don't believe they're dead, do you," he rumbled in his deep voice.

Frenk ran his arm violently across his eyes.

"I don't know what I believe," he said gruffly. "It's been over thirty years, and there's been no sign of them. Or their bodies."

"But that's what set you traveling," Ten observed gently. "Your drive to uncover the truth behind the rumors."

"I was fifteen when my big sister disappeared," the big man growled, his pain a burning flame behind his eyes. "After the incident, Alec came to my home in person. He told us that Kakky was gone, that the King had used some alien, experimental device on himself and taken her with him. It was a weak story, like something off a television serial. My parents refused to accept it—practically threw him from the house, they did. But I always remembered his eyes. His words seemed complete rubbish, but his eyes were so sincere, so desperate. He kept looking to me, as if begging me to believe him. So, after the schools were shut down, I scraped together what funds I could and went off on my travels. I searched for years, consulted physicists, lawyers, theologians, experts from across the galaxy. There were so many stories, but never any concrete proof that such a device existed. Even the theories behind such a thing were outlawed, they said, no one would ever dare construct one, even for laboratory use. Ultimately, I had to face up to my failure. I returned home, only to find things here were in a worse state than when I left."

He shook his head.

The Doctors shared a sharp glance.

"Frenk, that alien device," Ten said. "Did Alec ever describe it to you?"

"He said it was thin and black, like a slate," Frenk told him. "It gave off a blue light that supposedly surrounded the pair of them like a forcefield. And then, they both vanished."

The Doctors frowned, their faces twisted into identical expressions of mingled horror and enlightenment.

"Zygma energy!" they chorused.

"My God," Four rumbled, running his hand down his face. "Then the creatures… That first one, at any rate…"

"I know," Ten nodded. "It would certainly explain why they were so keen to target the Beatles."

He shot his counterpart a significant look.

"You know what this means," he said.

"Of course," Four replied.

"What?" Frenk frowned at them. "What does this mean?"

Four met his eyes with a somber stare.

"It means those creatures we've been tracking— those same creatures that broke through the dimensional barrier and destabilized the structural integrity of the universe itself—those creatures were created by your very own King Ann."

"And not just created," Ten added. "One of them is the king. The original one. And if he did have a zygma device, it's no surprise your sister was caught in the field. Machines like that are dangerously unstable."

"So, you're saying…" Frenk paled. "You're saying my sister is one of those creatures?"

"Frenk, I'm…" Ten started to reply, but something on his scanner caught his attention. His eyes widened, and he tensed.

"It's a spike!" he exclaimed, already rushing for the door. "The creatures are here, in the tunnels. Follow me!"

As he and Four dashed into the corridor, Ten called back over his shoulder to Frenk:

"That means run!"

*******

"Thee majoritea off us art runaways. Childwren of soljers hoo dyed, oar draftys who coldnut brig theyselfs too fite unt kill thear fellow Liddypudlians," Mary explained as she and Partly led the group deeper into the labyrinth of chalk tunnels. "Frenk gathered uns hier unt taut us how too lift off the land ant think fur oarselfs. Wee art thee children oft the Revolution."

"But I don't quite understand," Harry said. "Where exactly does your lot fit in with this Civil War you've been telling us about?"

"Oui arr newtroll," Partly told him. "Hour aim ist peace. Piece threw understanding, fur all sides."

"Ewe sea, oui unterstand tat essentially iffybody on hour whorled bee leaves in tea same values unt philosophies at hart," Mary said. "The reel cause off thee war is knot ideology atoll. Eat is tea queston off hoo kilt King Ann. The Traditionalists blame tea Imaginists. Thee Imaginists clam tat thee King did knot dye atoll. Tey say he disappeared. Butt, the truth ist, knowone nose fur shore watt happyned. Knowone can no. Sew, watt we do is wee entourage iffryone to reed all texts, those oft thee Imaginists unt tea Traditionalists, unt to form there own edgycratered opiums. Accordion too Frenk, the only way to end this endless wart ist fur us two lern from the missteps off the past."

"By forming your own educated opinions," Sarah Jane repeated, just to make sure she was translating right. "Well, it sounds to me like your Frenk is a very wise man."

"O, he ist!" Mary exclaimed. "Tea wisest hoo heifer lift!"

"Hear we arr," Partly announced, gesturing grandly a particularly busy hub with a high, domed ceiling.

Rose, Sarah, and Harry released relieved breaths they hadn't even known they'd been holding as they stepped out of the cramped tunnel and into the wide, bustling space.

"Wellcomb too the headquarters of Revolution #9." (1)

"Revolution #9?" Rose questioned. "What, like the song?"

Partly frowned, not understanding.

"Wee tuck the name frump one off hour mousse sackred unt misteerieus passages," he said. "Writed down buy the grate Jon Len-on in the Fourth Book of The White Album."

"The Fourth Book of the White Album?" Rose had to swallow an involuntary snicker. "Yeah, yeah, I know that one. And the other version too. You know, the one that goes:

'You say you want a revolution  
Well, you know  
We all want to change the world

You tell me that it's evolution  
Well, you know  
We all want to change the world—'" (2)

"Stop!" Partly exclaimed, his eyes wide with horror.

"Oh, come on. My singin's not that bad," Rose started, but Sarah Jane interrupted her, her eyes as wide as Partly's.

"No, Rose!" she exclaimed, dropping to the floor and pulling Harry down with her even as she pointed, "Behind you!"

"Rose! Rose, get down!"

It was the Doctor—Rose's Doctor—charging through the congested space with his sonic screwdriver held high and his long-scarfed counterpart only steps behind him.

Rose dove at once to the dusty ground and looked over her shoulder, only to gasp out loud. At least six of the strangely translucent creatures they'd been chasing were hovering in the tunnel behind her, pulsing and throbbing in eerie silence.

All activity in the tunnel instantly ceased as, everywhere, people sank nervously to the ground. Only the Doctors and Frenk remained standing.

"Doctor!" Sarah Jane exclaimed, looking up at Four in open relief.

"How did you get here so fast?" Rose hissed to Ten, trying not to breathe in too much of the dirty chalk dust as she edged closer to the others.

"There was a sudden spike on the readout," the Time Lord said, and gestured to his scanner. He looked down at her with a small, tender smile, then reached out a hand to pull her up beside him. "Oh, Rose," he said, drawing her into a quick hug. "I'm glad you're all right."

Rose smiled and hugged him back. Despite the situation and the odd feel of Sarah Jane's eyes on her back, she suddenly felt warmer than she had in a long time.

"So, what are they waitin' for?" she whispered, keeping close to the Doctor as the rest of the people rose cautiously to their feet. "Why don't they move or shriek or somethin'?"

"Watt art they?" Mary shivered, squeezing Partly's hand until their entwined fingers turned white.

"The Nowhere Men."

It was Frenk who spoke, his normally ruddy face pale with disbelief.

"Cragesmure…" he muttered. "They're real. Those stories…Alec's story…it's all real."

"What we're seeing is the effect of unregulated zygma beams," Four rumbled darkly. "The energy that binds individual moments of time together. These creatures were human beings once. But each of them has been compressed by the accumulated temporal energy of their lifespan. They're mere pinpoints of matter now; struggling consciousness trapped in a fractional reality."

Frenk's face was positively gray.

"But…but then my sister? Kakky? She's not… Doctor, tell me she's not…?"

"Doctor, look at this." Ten's voice was sharp. Four averted his gaze from Frenk's and stepped over to his counterpart, who was staring intently at his psychic paper.

"World the change to want all we," Four read. "It's backwards."

"It's what I was singin'," Rose spoke up, her eyes fixed on the hovering creatures. "'We all want to change the world...' D'ya think my singin' could've attracted them?"

"It's possible," Ten said, slipping his glasses over his nose so he could squint more comfortably at his scanner. "Rose," he said, "try another verse."

"Of the same song?"

The Doctor shrugged.

"Just sing. I want to try something."

Rose glanced behind her and immediately wished she hadn't. There had to be nearly a hundred Liddypudlians gathered in the hub, and all of them were staring at her. With a shaky breath and a small, apologetic smile to her friends, she began to sing—softly at first, but gradually growing stronger as she went on.

"You say you want a revolution  
Well, you know  
We all want to change the world

You tell me that it's evolution  
Well, you know  
We all want to change the world

But when you talk about destruction  
Don't you know that you can count me out  
Don't you know it's gonna be  
All right  
All right  
All right…

"Anythin' yet?" she asked hopefully.

"Keep singing," Ten replied, his hair nearly touching Four's as they worked together to adjust the scanner's settings. "All of you. Everyone here! If you know the words, then sing along! Now!"

The Liddypudlians were confused, doubtful, and frightened, but they understood urgency when they heard it. As Rose continued singing, they began to join in a few at a time until, after a few moments, the cavernous hub echoed with song, the familiar, cherished words put to music for the first time in Liddypudlian history.

"You say you got a real solution  
Well, you know  
We'd all love to see the plan

You ask me for a contribution  
Well, you know  
We're doing what we can

But when you want money  
for people with minds that hate  
All I can tell is brother you have to wait

Don't you know it's gonna be  
All right  
All right  
All right…" (3)

"Oh my goodness," Sarah Jane exclaimed, breaking away from the song to stare in wonder at the scene before her.

"Rassilon! It's working!" Ten clasped his counterpart's arm, his voice thick with wonder. "Oh my— Doctor, look!"

Four stared.

"There's something coming through…"

A shimmering image was taking shape in response to the music, stretching and pulling itself out from the largest of the hovering creatures. It was like something unreal, ethereal, ghostly, a droplet of water dancing in a bubble formed of rainbows. As the people sang, its shape solidified, becoming more recognizably human. Her body was translucent, her youthful features blurred like a faded memory or a smear of motion in a photograph. But Frenk Fingletoad knew her at once.

"By the light…!" Frenk gasped, stumbling forward like a man in a trance, his cheeks wet and shining with tears. "Kakky? Kakky, it can't be you…!"

But the image was already gone. As the song faded into gasps and shouts, the girl faded too, her delicate form collapsing back to the center of the throbbing monster. The entire hub watched, entranced, as the pulsating creatures shrank and vanished, leaving the tunnel clear once more.

Frenk swayed on his feet, a hand pressed to his thundering heart.

Mary rushed at once to lend him a supportive arm.

"It was Kakky," he sobbed. "I saw my sister."

"Eye no, sir," Mary said soothingly, shooting the Doctors a very dirty look. "Eye no."

Ten stared for a moment at the empty space where the creatures had been, then triumphantly shoved his scanner into his pocket.

"Heh. Fantastic," he said, his lips twitching upward in a wide, wondrous smile. "No, no, it's more than fantastic. It's brilliant! Absolute brilliance!"

Frenk turned on him, his reddened eyes blazing.

"What did you do?" he demanded fiercely. "How--why did you do that?"

"That's the thing—I didn't do it," Ten retorted, still too excited to adequately acknowledge Frenk's anguish. "They did! These amazing people, right there. The words and melody combined, the encoded formulae meshed, and... Well, you saw the result!"

"But can you do it again?" Frenk was almost pleading. "Can you bring her back, Doctor? Can you bring my sister back?"

Ten pursed his lips, the light in his eyes withdrawing as his expression tightened.

"Frenk… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but I just don't know. Honestly, I had no idea your sister would appear. If anything, I was expecting to see a shadow of your king. Your sister must have an extraordinary strength of will."

But Frenk had turned away, his shoulders trembling as he fought to regain control of his roiling emotions.

The Doctor lowered his head.

"Frenk," he said. "If it's any consolation, I can help you. What we just saw, painful as it may have been, it proved my theory was right. Your people aren't just tuned into the Logopolitan program, they're a part of it. Given the right tools you, Frenk, you and the entire population of Liddypool Prime can reverse the damage those creatures have caused our universe."

"Yeah, there's just a small problem with that plan." Frenk glared. "My planet is at war, Doctor. We are a fractured, damaged people. Trust me, Time Lord. The harder you strive for harmony here, the more discord you receive."

Ten nodded slowly, his expression gentle, yet coaxing as he said, "You saw it Frenk. You had a glimpse the magic your people can do. There were only a few dozen of them here, but when they joined together, thinking the same thoughts, speaking the same words, in their shared song was the power to influence energy and matter on a sub-quantum level. I saw it, Frenk, I saw them turn back time. These people are the ones who brought Kakky back, if only for a moment. And if we could amplify that effect… If we could get the whole planet singing the same song at once…"

His eyes darted across the faces of the crowd, landing at last on Partly's.

"Partly! Partly, Partly Dave," he said, grasping the startled boy's shoulder and pulling him over in a comradely fashion. "Partly, old son, I put it to you. How would you like to meet the Great Philosopher? In person. All four of them, live and in concert."

Partly looked confused and slightly offended.

"Are you mad?" he asked.

"Heh," Ten hemmed, amused and increasingly excited as his idea took shape in his head. "Yeah. Yeah, I think maybe I am."

Releasing Partly, the Doctor quickly turned to his companions, pulling them away from the rest of the crowd.

"Rose," he said, barely able to contain his enthusiasm. "Sarah, Harry…you," he nodded to Four. "We've got to go."

"Go?" Harry frowned. "Go where?"

"Back to Earth!" Ten grinned, already starting to move back toward the maze of tunnels that split off from the hub. "Frenk," he said, "what kind of clout do you have here? Can you get in contact with the leaders of the other factions?"

"I could send messengers, sure," Frenk said. "But there's no guarantee they'll respond."

"Ah," Ten acknowledged. "Then don't just send messages to them. Talk to ordinary people, regular soldiers on the ground. Get them to spread the word to others, all sides, all factions, all walks of life. When we get back, I want to hear the whole planet buzzing with the news!"

"What news? What's the message, Doctor?" Frenk said.

"Tell them..." Ten paused for a moment, thinking. "Tell them to watch the skies for a Yellow Submarine."

Frenk stared, a glint of awe flickering amidst the doubt in his eyes.

"You're serious about this, aren't you," he said, almost scornfully. "You really believe you can bring the Four Lads to Liddypool Prime."

Mary clasped her hands in front of her.

"Doctor," she asked hesitantly. "Issit tru? Can yew rally brink the Grate Philosopher to us?"

Ten stood straight, his entire bearing exuding confidence and power.

"I can," he assured her. "But you have to do your part. You have to get the word out. Can you do that?"

"Ewe can kaunt on us," Partly said, and saluted smartly.

Frenk hesitated another moment but, ultimately, he sighed.

"All right," he said. "I'll get the message out there. But how can we be sure you'll be back? The true coming of the Beatles—it's the oldest hoax going."

Four stepped forward.

"I'll stay," he offered.

"But Doctor—" Sarah Jane started.

Four shook his head.

"If this plan is going to work, these people are going to need to know they can trust us to do as we promise. And with those creatures still on the loose here… I'm staying."

"Then I'm staying too," Sarah Jane said. "After all, who better to help spread the news of the century than a professional journalist?"

"Anyone else want to stay with the Doctor here?" Ten asked. "Harry? Rose?"

Rose shook her head.

"I'll stay," Harry offered. "After all, if this works out, we'll be organizing the biggest reunion concert the cosmos has ever known."

Four grinned. "Good point."

"Right then," Ten nodded. "It's me and Rose, off to fetch the Beatles."

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his scanner and tossed it to Four.

"Good luck."

"And you," the scarfed Doctor said. "As for my TARDIS…"

"She's staying too, don't worry," Ten said, and took Rose's hand in his. "Come on, Rose. Andiamo! We've got a universe to save!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> 1) "Revolution #9" was an audio collage put together mainly by John, George, Ringo, and Yoko Ono. Paul was against including the track on The White Album and didn't really actively participate in creating it even though it featured prominently in the famous "Paul is Dead" controversy. If the track is played in reverse, the repeated 'number nine' backwards babble can sound sort of like people saying things like "Turn me on, dead man," "Paul is dead," and "Get me out."
> 
> 2) "Revolution," written by John Lennon, first released as side B of the Beatles' Hey Jude single in 1968. Apple Records.
> 
> 3) Ibid.


	22. Chapter Twenty

Ten's TARDIS faded into being on an average gray street corner. Ten stepped out into the chilly air and looked around to get his bearings.  
"Well, London's still here," he called back to Rose. "So, the spreading entropy hasn't reached Earth."  
"That's a relief," said Rose, pulling the TARDIS doors closed. "Oh, look—the TARDIS has gone back to bein' a Police Box! Did you do that, or is it like a default sort of thing?"

The Doctor seemed distracted, his eyes darting around in every direction.

"Hm? No, I've been leaving the shifts to her. I think she's most comfortable as a Police Box. Old habits…and it suits her, really… Rose, do you hear that?"

Rose stepped up beside him.

"Hear what? When are we?"

"I'd say, lunchtime," the Doctor said, his slow stride turning into a jog as he crossed the street. "And if that sound I'm hearing is any indication, it's the thirtieth of January, 1969 and we are coming up on number 3, Savile Row."

Rose smirked.

"Lunchtime?" she teased, catching up with him easily.

The Doctor glanced at her.

"Yeah. Hear anything yet?"

"Actually," Rose tilted her head, "I thought that was jus' city noises at first, but now it's startin' to come together."

"Right now. Over me."

"What?"

"Look up," the Doctor said, and pointed.

Rose followed his finger to the top of a tall, brick building about half a block away. Something was going on up there, a sort of concert. Rose thought she could see the sun gleaming off a drumset and a little forest of microphones. A crowd of people stood and stared, blocking traffic in the street below. Many of them were business-types, dressed in suits and hats, probably out for their lunch break. Others were younger, dressed more brightly, and still others were cheering from the windows of the surrounding buildings.

The noise was incredible, and grew more impressive the closer they got. Rose's jaw dropped as she suddenly realized what was going on.

"Doctor!" she pulled at his sleeve, "This is—I know what this is! It's the Beatles' Rooftop Concert, that one they put at the end of that documentary thing, Let It Be! This was their last live performance before they broke up!"

"Well, it wasn't so much a concert. More a show, really," the Doctor said. "But it is brilliant, don't you think?"

He pulled her into the thick of the crowd and smiled down at her, squeezing her hand as they soaked it all in.

"Playin' on the rooftop in a posh street like this, lettin' the people enjoy their music no charge… They said they wanted to make something true, something real. Well, it doesn't get much realer than this."

"I'm surprised they let it happen at all—the businessmen, producer people, I mean," Rose said. "Didn't the cops come in and break things up at the end?"

"Yeah, someone called the cops on them," the Doctor sniffed. "Right party poopers, whoever they were. But it makes things easier for us."

"Yeah? How?" Rose asked.

The Doctor held up his psychic paper. Rose saw it identified him as a Detective Peter Carlisle. He gave her a cheeky grin.

"It gives us an excuse to break in there and take the Beatles away. Come on!"

Even with the psychic paper, it was tricky business getting into the building and all the way up to the roof. The real cops arrived only moments after the Doctor and Rose made it through—so quickly, in fact, it seemed as though the two of them had paved their way. They burst onto the scene like park rangers at a wildfire, and immediately began stamping out the music. They did it in a strangely polite, almost awkward manner, but the effect was still the same.

Rose started forward, but the Doctor held her back, hanging by the sidelines until the Beatles—and the cameras—had started back down the stairs.

"Why did you stop me?" Rose frowned. "Now the police have the Beatles!"

"History, Rose," the Doctor said. "The police broke up the show, that's the way it had to happen. Now we can go downstairs and collect them."

"But if the entire universe is fading into entropy, what's it matter if we change things a little? I mean, if it means we can put things back to normal…?"

"And destabilize reality even further?" The Doctor scoffed. "Rose, with things so unstable, we have to be more careful than ever to keep the ripples to a minimum."

"Oh, and stealing the Beatles won't cause ripples?"

"Of course it will," the Doctor said, already rushing for the stairs. "But hopefully, it'll start the kind of ripples we want."

Rose rolled her eyes to the sky. Just when she thought she was starting to understand, he went and made things complicated all over again.

"Rose, come on!" the Doctor's voice echoed from the stairwell.

Swallowing her annoyance, Rose dashed after him into the building.

*******

The Beatles were sitting in their studio when the Doctor and Rose burst in.

"Detective Inspector Carlisle," Ten said, flashing his psychic paper at the little clot of men and uniformed police clogging up the corridor outside the door. Yoko Ono was there too, leaning against the wall looking tired.

"Hey, hey, hey!" one of the men protested. "I didn't say you could go in there!"

"And who are you?" the Doctor inquired.

"George Martin. I'm the producer," the man said, effectively blocking his way. "Anything you want to ask them, you can ask me."

"All right then," the Doctor said, starting to get impatient. "I need to take the Beatles away in my magnificent time ship to give a concert on a distant planet. What do you say?"

"What?" George Martin squinted. "He's mad. The man's mad—oi!" He hopped backwards to head the Doctor off before he could slip past. "You're not getting anywhere near the Beatles, you hear me! Now get lost, or—"

"Hey Georgie!" one of the Beatles called out. Rose thought she recognized the voice as John's. "Who's that out there? Let him past."

"But John, he's a loony," Martin said defensively. "I doubt he really is a police inspector. Let me see that badge again—"

"Never mind all that, just let him though, George," Paul called. "And the girl with him."

The Beatle stood up and walked over to Rose, a curious expression on his face.

"Have we met before?"

Martin threw up his hands in exasperation and went back to continue his conversation with the real cops. In the meantime, Rose couldn't help a little blush at the thought that Paul had remembered her after all this time. Although it had only been a matter of hours to her, Rose knew it had been about five years since the Beatle last saw her at Marylebone Station, during the filming of A Hard Day's Night.

"Rose Tyler," she smiled shyly, pressing her tongue against her teeth. "An' the Doctor," she said, remembering her companion.

John's eyes widened slightly behind his glasses and shoulder-length hair.

"The Definite Article," he recalled, leaning forward with keen interest. "You remember, lads—from that day at the station." He stood up. "You ran out on us, Doctor. You never did explain what that thing was."

Ringo looked confused for a moment, then the light dawned. He shivered.

"I thought I'd dreamed that creature thing. Are you saying it was real?"

"I remember it," George said quietly.

Ringo shivered again.

Paul's eyebrows rose.

"So it's that Rose Tyler," he said. "I must say, you haven't changed. Either of you. Not even your clothes, from the looks of it." He looked pointedly at the Doctor's pinstriped suit.

Ten straightened.

"As it happens, we've come here because of that very creature," he told them somberly. "The thing that attacked you has become a real threat, and we need the four of you to help us stop it."

"Stop it how?" John asked skeptically. "As I remember the incident, that thing wanted to eat us. Or absorb us or something equally nasty."

"There's a reason for that," the Doctor said. "I can explain everything, but you'll have to come with me."

"Come with you?" Paul frowned.

"It's not what you think," Rose said quickly. "We just need you to sing. There's this planet—I mean, place, and if you agree to jus' give a little concert—"

The Beatles broke out in harsh chuckles.

"Concert," they muttered.

"Sorry, doll, but we don't do concerts. Not anymore, not after today."

"In fact, we're not even sure there'll still be a Beatles after today. This was sort of…it."

"But—" Rose started.

The Doctor sighed in frustration.

"We don't have time for this," he hissed in her ear. "Rose, you stay. Keep them talking. I'll be right back."

"Doctor, you're not leaving me here—!" Rose exclaimed incredulously.

"I just need to fetch something. Trust me, you won't even know I've gone," the Doctor said, and gave her hand a squeeze. "Promise."

Rose sighed, but by the time she nodded he had already left. She was alone with the Beatles, and all four of them were wearing matching looks of skeptical condescending amusement.

"Look, I know it sounds mad," she tried, "but we really do need your help. All of reality depends on it."

Paul let out a long, whistling breath. The rest of them snickered. Rose crossed her arms in frustration, at a loss as to how to explain things to them without sounding even more like a mental case.

And then, there came a sound…

Rose lifted her head in disbelief as loose papers began fluttering in a sudden breeze. It seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere, whipping their hair around their faces. The Beatles all stood in alarm and began backing closer to her as the thrumming, whooshing sounds grew louder, accompanied now by an odd, flashing light. Rose grinned as the TARDIS solidified before them, right in the center of the room.

George paled.

"Wha—what… What is that?" he stammered.

The Police Box door burst open and the Doctor's beaming face poked out.

"What, this?" he said, smiling at the flabbergasted group. "This is a time machine. Anyone fancy a ride?"

Rose laughed and skipped up beside him.

"Doctor, I can't believe you brought the TARDIS here!"

"We can't stay much longer," Ten said, his expression suddenly serious as he turned back to the frightened Beatles. "The creatures that attacked you have multiplied. It happened way back at your first gig at the Cavern Club. In their search for you, they've destabilized the very fabric of our universe. Unless you come with me, now, this reality will fade to nothing. It's up to you."

The Beatles looked at each other.

"The Cavern?" John thought back, and his eyes widened. "Oh my God... Stu...! You were there that night, weren't you. The pair of you. You tried to warn us..." He swallowed and let out a deep, angry breath.

"I never put it together," Paul said quietly. "It was all so bizarre... We must have, I don't know, rationalized it or something. Blotted it all out."

"Yeah..." John frowned. "So, that's a real time machine, then."

"The only one of her kind," the Doctor affirmed.

"Looks like it'll be a tight squeeze with all of us in that little box," Ringo noted.

Rose smirked.

"Not as tight as you might think."

"I've got a question," George spoke up, looking a little desperate. "Why us? Why would these creature things come after us, and how could us giving a concert possibly stop all of reality from fading? I mean, who are we?"

"Come with us," the Doctor said. "And maybe you'll find out."

The Beatles shared another look, then John stepped forward.

"We're in," he said. "But Yoko—"

"She stays," the Doctor said. "It's you four only. Sorry, but that's the rules."

"Well, I'm going," George said, striding up to the Doctor. Peering into the TARDIS, he gasped: "Impossible!"

"What? George, what do you see?" Paul called after him.

"Lads, you've got to check this out! This place—it's unreal!"

"It's dimensionally transcendental," the Doctor informed him as the remaining Beatles crowded through the door. "All right, everybody in?" he asked, bounding up the ramp. He yanked the lever to close the doors, then started spinning wheels and turning knobs. The time column thrummed, pulsing greenish light. The Beatles stared in awe. Rose and the Doctor shared a grin, and the Doctor pushed down on the lever that initiated the dematerialization process.

"We're off!"


	23. Chapter Twenty-One

"Sir? Partly retorts he, Sarah, unt Harry half reached thee transmission point, wear thee grate consert ist two bee held," Mary announced. "Also, eye half maid tintacked whist thee Imaginist camp. Alec Danoota and Lord Eric Hearble art wading on the lion."

Frenk looked to Four, who was peering over Mary's shoulder at the complicated communications console, all dials, switches, knobs and wires.

"These are important men, Doctor," he said grimly. "If I relay your message to them and your friends fail to produce the Beatles, my credibility—"

"Your credibility won't mean much if this entropy crisis continues," Four rumbled.

"But what am I to tell them?" Frenk demanded. "Seriously?"

"The truth would be best," Four replied, popping a jelly baby into his mouth then offering the bag to Frenk. Frenk ignored it.

"And if they don't believe me? You have to admit, it's all a terribly fantastic story."

Four shrugged under his scarf and stuffed the bag back into his pocket.

"You're just going to have to make your message very convincing. If you can't get these people together, we're all doomed."

Frenk shot the tall Time Lord a dirty glance.

"Thanks for that. No pressure, then." He reached out a hand, saying, "Mary, I'll take that phone."

*******

"So, this is Fool's Hill. It's windier than I imagined," Sarah Jane said, brushing her hair from her face so she could look around.

The hill was steep and grassy and rather featureless, save for a strange stone ruin at the very top. It was a tapered structure with broad stairs running up one side. An enormous white satellite dish bloomed from the other end, an incongruous melding of ancient and modern that actually managed to look elegant.

"What is that?" she asked Partly. "It looks like some kind of miniature ziggurat."

"Tat ist the Fool's Temple," the young man told her. "Beflour thee war, eat wasp a place off solitoot und condemnation, ware people cold comb and see the sun going down."

"Contemplation," Harry spoke up.

"Watt?" Partly said.

"Contemplation," Harry repeated. "You said 'condemnation.' I believe the word you want is actually 'contemplation.'"

Partly looked lost. Sarah smirked and patted her friend's arm.

"Nice try, Harry, but I don't think you're getting through. Partly," she said, "are you certain that dish will be able to transmit our signal to every television and radio on this world?"

"O, yes," Partly said. "It ease amazingly plowerfault. Wren the Grate Philosopher arrives, their words wheel reach iffryone. Iffry person on this plant wilt bee forced too listen und beleaf und when they due…" Partly looked away, his expression distant. "Mebee…juiced mebee…this bloody Civil Wart wheel end, und wee wilt half piece."

Harry looked thoughtful.

"You really believe in the Great Philosophers, don't you."

Partly nodded. "Eye do."

"If it's not too personal," Harry said. "I mean, if you don't mind my asking…"

"Your arsekink watt?"

"Well, I was just wondering. Where do you fall in all this, Partly? I mean, I know you said you're neutral, but do you consider yourself an Imaginist or a Traditionalist at heart?"

Partly pursed his lips and looked down at the grass.

"Mine brother," he said softly. "Mine brother Fully was a Traditionalist. He joint their faction when he was juiced fourteen, so he wasp their tat day, at tea Battle of Strawberry Field, when iffryting went all helter-skelter. He was hurt unt lift two die in all tea kiosk. But Frenk found him unt took him inn. He safed his life, butt Fully wanted only to return two his groop. He snuck away from our caves one knight, und maid itt back two thee Traditionalists…butt eat wasp dark unt…" he took in a shaky breath, "unt one off thee patrolmen shot him. His own faction kilt him. After tat, eye lust mine faith in factions. Eye staid wit Frenk, unt I belief watt he beleaves."

"And what does he believe?" Sarah asked gently.

"Tat eat doesn't matter weather the Four Lads broke up our knot," Partly said. "Watt matters is their words. The Great Philosopher lift us these words to let us know tat their ist a better way two life. Peace ist possible thru love unt unterstandink. Tea trubble ist, today wee liff in a world without ether. Oui art sew concerned wit oar differences tat we half forgotten that all tea factions beeleaf inn tea same message, the basic tenant of oar shared faith: All you need is love."

Harry gave Partly a small smile.

"They tried to share that message with our world too," he said. "Let's hope they'll have more success here."

"Sew they rally art coming, then?" Partly asked, his eyes wide with hope.

"They are," Sarah Jane assured him, her voice strong and confident despite her own inner doubts. "Which means we've got to start getting things ready here. Partly, you lead the way. We've got to get all this equipment up and running before the crowds start to gather."

*******

It had taken some doing. The messenger scouts Frenk sent out were initially greeted with hostility by the faction troops, who refused to believe their message was anything more than a hoax. Yet, despite their disbelief, the rumor of the Beatles' coming spread through the ranks like wildfire. By the time it had gone around twice, some of those who had doubted began to believe. By the time it had gone around three times, even the most scornful were forced to admit they were curious.

It wasn't long before the strongest believers began to slip away, heading for the Fool's Hill, where it was said the Yellow Submarine was promised to appear. More followed their example, abandoning their camps in small groups that gradually grew larger and larger until, finally, whole companies were marching on the hill.

The story was soon taken up by the news stations, who spread the word among the remaining civilian population. By the time Partly, Sarah, Harry, and the technicians they'd brought with them managed to figure out how to use the massive Fools Hill satellite dish to commandeer all the planet's radio and television frequencies, a veritable sea of people had gathered around the temple.

Harry peered out the door at them all, marveling that their planted rumor had had such a stunningly successful effect. It really seemed they had brought the divided world of Liddypool Prime together. Until he looked again.

"Good grief," he said.

"What is it?" Sarah asked, coming up behind him.

Harry gestured to the noisy crowds below.

"Well, just look at them," he said. "They came all right, but even now they're sticking to their groups. Look at that—not one of those factions is talking with the others. They've got themselves sectioned off into little color-coded clots."

"Well, Harry, they are at war," Sarah Jane pointed out. "The important thing is they're here, and they're not trying to kill each other. And the people who aren't here are listening in on their radios and televisions."

"We hope," Harry said.

"Yes." Sarah stepped out of the temple and squinted at the bright sky. "Oh, if only that skinny Doctor and his little blonde friend would show up with the Beatles! I'm getting so antsy just standing here waiting."

"I know how you feel, old girl," Harry nodded. "And what of our Doctor? Surely he's not planning to miss the show—"

"Harry, listen!" Sarah interrupted, grabbing his arm. "I think it's the TARDIS!"

"Oh? Which one?"

Harry's question was answered a moment later when Four stepped out of his TARDIS's familiar battered blue doors. He was followed by a rather awestruck Frenk and Mary.

"I told you she could get us here faster," the Time Lord was saying to them as he approached Sarah and Harry. "Quite a turnout, wouldn't you say?" He smiled at them. "And it's not just the factions that have turned up." He held up Ten's blocky scanner. "Those Nowhere Men creatures are here as well. They're staying just out of phase, so we can't see them. But they're there, waiting."

"Waiting for the Beatles?" Sarah asked. "Doctor, what do we do if they try another attack, like they did back at the Cavern?"

"They say that music hath charms to soothe the savage breast…or something of that sort," Four said. "We can only hope that effect we saw down in the caves was not an isolated incident."

Harry frowned.

"You mean, if we get these people singing the right song, those creatures will turn back into people?"

Four shrugged, his blue eyes fixed firmly on the sky above the ziggurat's flattened peak.

"We're dealing with block transfer equations here, Harry," he said. "Anything is possible."

Sarah nodded and came up beside him.

"Doctor, have you heard anything from your…erm…counterpart?"

"No news yet," Four told her. "But if he was successful, I'd presume he'd be arriving here just about…"

A gasp rose from the gathered crowd, followed by shrieks and cheers. Sarah and Harry looked up, just in time to see a vivid yellow submarine descending dramatically through one of the holes in the sky.

"Now," Four finished, looking rather smug.

"By the light…" Frenk whispered, his eyes wide with awe. "By the light, it's real. Partly!" He called into the temple. "Partly, are you getting this, lad?"

"Thee pickture's clear unt transmuting across tea world," Partly called back.

"This is it, then," Frenk said, mopping his brow with a colorful handkerchief. "When that craft lands, the history of Liddypool Prime will change forever. Everything we believe in, everything we've fought over for so long…all our questions and doubts…"

Mary took his arm as he trailed off, his eyes fixed firmly on the submarine's porthole.

"O, luck, tea door, sir!" she said, her voice tight with anticipation. "Eye think tea door ist opening!"


	24. Chapter Twenty-Two

Ten looked up from his control panel to glance at the display on his monitor screen.

"Well, here we are," he announced. "Logopolis: currently known as Liddypool Prime."

Rose and the Beatles crowded around behind him, peering over his shoulders to catch a glimpse of the small, greenish-brown world below.

Paul narrowed his eyes.

"I'm still having trouble wrappin' me head round all this," he said. "I mean, even if I grant you that this is a time machine and that that really is an alien planet on that little screen there, I'm still not clear on what you expect us to do."

"Yeah," Ringo agreed. "You still haven't said how our singin's supposed to stop them creature things from…what was it? Tearin' the universe apart?"

"Yeah, when you put it like that it does all sound a bit fanciful," John said. "Even given these grand surroundings. So, since our friend The Definite Article tends to talk in code, I'll put it to you, Rose. Do you understand any of this?"

Rose glanced at the Doctor, feeling a bit helpless.

"Well, I know it's about stoppin' entropy," she said hesitantly. "An' it's like…well… As I understand it, there's these equations, right, that make real, solid things out of mathematical numbers, an' somehow these equations got mixed up in your songs. So now it's like singin' your songs is the same as plottin' out these equations. Does that make sense?"

The Beatles glanced at each other, then shook their heads.

"No."

"Nope."

"Not a bit."

"Clear as mud."

"Then Doctor, you tell them," Rose said, frustrated.

The Doctor glanced at her, then grabbed a beat up old egg timer from under the control panel, wound it up, and turned around.

"It's like this," he said quickly, his eyes darting distractedly from the Beatles to the egg timer to the monitor, where he'd magnified his view until he could see the crowds starting to gather around Fool's Hill far, far below.

"The universe is a complicated system of precariously balanced dominos. When those creatures that attacked you punched through the boundary separating our expanding universe from the static seed universe that supplies its energy, they knocked down a few of those dominos. Those dominos toppled still more dominoes, which toppled still more dominoes, until now the entire structure of the causal nexus is unraveling like a torn knit scarf. Poof! Entropy. But we can reweave that scarf if we use the right block transfer equations. And in order for those equations to take effect, we need to feed them through a massive, living computer that can process each program and translate the information into physical matter without being altered by the equations themselves. That computer is that planet down there, and its people are all the technical fiddly bits that make up the computer's central processing unit, like circuit boards and hard drives and graphics cards and other things most of you lot won't even hear of until at least the 1990s. Only thing is, due to a quirk of history, those people are wired to only accept equations that have been encoded in song. Your songs. In other words, if you sing on Liddypool Prime today, the reverberations will set the universal dominoes back to rights, and each piece will once again stand tall in its own designated place. Who knows—we might even resurrect a few!"

John puffed out his cheeks and let out a slow breath, rolling his eyes towards his friends.

"See," he said, "what'd I tell you. Code."

"Now," the Doctor spoke over him as if he hadn't heard, leaving no room for questions as he crouched down and began lifting out the floor grate so he could climb under the controls, "we're really very short on time. Rose, quick, take our guests to the wardrobe. The TARDIS'll have their costumes ready when you get there."

"Costumes?" Paul repeated with a frown. "No one said anything about costumes."

"These people down on Liddypool Prime have a very specific idea of what you lads are supposed to look like," the Doctor spoke over his shoulder, buzzing away at the TARDIS's underbelly with his sonic screwdriver. "That image has been passed down through their mythology for millennia. If we're to stand a chance of convincing them you really are who we all know you are, we'll all have to look the part. Now go, get dressed! I've got to finish adjusting the chameleon circuit."

Rose started to lead the Beatles away, but George paused at the door, refusing to move a step further.

"But wait! You still haven't said… Why us?" he asked. "Why our music? Why not Mozart or Elvis or…or the Rolling Stones even?"

"They chose you," Rose said simply. "They built their whole culture around your music an' your writings. Even the way they talk…it's all from you."

"Yes, but…" he trailed off, unsure just what he needed to ask.

Rose understood, but she wasn't sure how to answer. Biting her lip, she tried, "I don't know exactly why… I—I reckon it's the message in your songs…that we can work things out, that all you need is love… They call you the Great Philosophers. The only problem is it's been such a long time they don't know the whole story anymore. Whole chunks of your histories have been lost. An' now they're fightin' because they can't agree if the facts say you broke up or not when we both know you did…or, at least, that you're plannin' to. That's why the creatures are after you, an' that's why we need you to get out there and set things straight. You're the only ones who can bring that world together—and they're the only ones who can 'reweave' our universe, like the Doctor said. Does that help?"

George rubbed his temples.

"Not really. It's just makin' me head hurt."

"Then don't think about it," Rose said. "Jus' trust me. An' trust the Doctor. Come on, now," she said, taking his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze, "an' I'll show you to the wardrobe."

*******

The Doctor's egg timer binged just as Rose and the Beatles filed back into the control room. The Beatles were now brightly dressed in psychedelically colored band uniforms, and all of them, including Rose, carried an array of instruments. As they marched in, Rose announced, "Presenting Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band!"

The Doctor had replaced the floor grate and was now standing on it, reaching far over the nearest panel to make some last-minute adjustments.

"Perfect!" he crowed, and grinned at them, his bright eyes sparkling with adrenaline. "An' perfect timing too. Looks like my counterpart's done somethin' right. The crowds are in place and that huge satellite dish thing is online an' rarin' to go. Let's give this world a show they'll never forget!"

*******

Down on the planet, Sarah Jane Smith was standing on Fool's Hill, squinting up at the sky, when: "Harry, listen!" she exclaimed, grabbing her friend's arm. "I think it's the TARDIS!"

"Oh? Which one?"

Harry's question was answered a moment later when Four stepped out of his TARDIS's familiar battered blue doors. He was followed by a rather awestruck Frenk and Mary.

"I told you she could get us here faster," the Time Lord was saying as he approached Sarah and Harry. "Quite a turnout, wouldn't you say?" he smiled at them. "And it's not just the factions that have turned up."

He held up Ten's blocky scanner.

"Those Nowhere Men creatures are here as well. They're staying just out of phase, so we can't see them. But they're there, waiting."

"Waiting for the Beatles?" Sarah asked. "Doctor, what do we do if they try another attack, like they did back at the Cavern?"

"They say that music hath charms to soothe the savage breast…or something of that sort," Four said. "We can only hope that effect we saw down in the caves was not an isolated incident."

Harry frowned.

"You mean, if we get these people singing the right song, those creatures will turn back into people?"

Four shrugged, his blue eyes fixed firmly on the sky above the ziggurat's flattened peak.

"We're dealing with block transfer equations here, Harry," he said. "Anything is possible."

Sarah nodded and came up beside him.

"Doctor, have you heard anything from your…erm…counterpart?"

"No news yet," Four told her. "But if he was successful, I'd presume he'd be arriving here just about…"

A gasp rose from the gathered crowd, followed by shrieks and cheers.

Sarah and Harry looked up, just in time to see a vivid yellow submarine descending dramatically through one of the holes in the sky.

"...now," Four finished, looking rather smug.

"By the light…" Frenk whispered, his eyes wide with awe. "By the light, it's real. Partly!" He called into the temple. "Partly, are you getting this, lad?"

"Thee pickture's clear unt transmuting across tea world," Partly called back.

"This is it, then," Frenk said, mopping his brow with a colorful handkerchief. "When that craft lands, the history of Liddypool Prime will change forever. Everything we believe in, everything we've fought over for so long…all our questions and doubts…"

Mary took his arm as he trailed off, his eyes fixed firmly on the submarine's porthole.

"O, luck, tea door, sir!" she said, her voice tight with anticipation. "Eye think tea door ist opening!"

The noise from the crowds began to die down as head after head turned up towards the gleaming submarine in nervous anticipation.

Sarah took Harry's hand and squeezed it hard. Despite her best efforts at self control, the young journalist was practically bouncing on her heels, her exhilaration rising with the door as the Beatles marched out in full costume and in full song. They marched to a thumping, squealing, clashing beat, its familiar sound projecting from the disguised TARDIS through the ruin's massive satellite dish to reach every peak and valley of the planet.

The awe from the gathered crowd was palpable as the group began to sing:

Three thousand years ago today,  
Sgt. Pepper taught the band to play  
We've been goin' in and out of style,  
But we're guaranteed to raise a smile  
So let me introduce to you  
The act that started all these tears  
Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band!

At the base of the hill, two young men stood side by side. One wore sandy yellow, the other moldy green.

"Yore a Traditionalist, write?" the teen in the green uniform said. "Watt due ewe make off this? I mean, doo you rally think eats them? The Grate Philosopher?"

The Traditionalist scowled over at his faction rival.

"Watt, arr you sayin' juice beclaws I'm a Traditionalist, tat means iams gullyable? Eats a scam! Eats gotta bee."

"Butt tea submarine!" a girl in an orange uniform spoke up. "Ant dee muzak! Hive never herd anytink lick it!"

"Sew just beclaus you've never herd eat, tat makes eat real?" the young Traditionalist scorned. "Watt a maroon."

"All this…eats juiced another poletickle con," a second, older Traditionalist said, stepping forward to back the first. "Mad ol' Frenk Fingletoad's up two some new trick. Listen! Tear knot even singin' tea right words! If ewe canned sea tat, ten mebbe it's true watt they say aboot yew Imaginists."

"Yeah? Unt watt's tat?" a burly Imaginist glared, pushing past the girl until he was standing nose to nose with the skeptical Traditionalist.

"Tat yore as soft in tea head asp ewe arr in your resolve," the man glared back, completely uncowed. "Iffryone nose yew lot couldn't take a stand iff yore feet were nailed too tea floor!"

The big Imaginist's dark eyes blazed, and he pulled his arm back, letting loose with a punch that knocked the cocky Traditionalist right off his feet. The man grunted, and when he took his hands away from his face, everyone could see his nose was gushing blood.

"Right," the younger Traditionalist said. "Sew tat's how ewe lot want it!"

The young Traditionalist lunged at the nearest orange uniform, punching for all he was worth. Soon, punches were flying everywhere, and those who hadn't been sucked into the fray were taking up the cry: "Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!"

"Erm, Doctor," Sarah Jane said, pulling at Four's sleeve.

Four turned away from the music to look in the direction she was indicating.

"Off all the foolish…" he started, only to be cut off when a crack of gunfire burst from the battling crowds below. "Good grief!"

"This isn't working," Harry said frowned nervously, watching as the fighting spread across the fields; an ominous ripple that threatened to become a wave. "They're not even listening anymore!"

"We must stop this," Four stated, marching straight for Ten's disguised TARDIS. "Now, before that field down there becomes a war zone."

"But Doctor—" Sarah started.

"Tell the Beatles to keep playing," he called over his shoulder. "I have a few things I need to discuss with myself."

*******

"Not exactly the reception we expected, is it, Doctor," Rose was saying as Four strode into Ten's control room. "They've already gone from punches to bullets. What's next, grenades?"

"They may as well have set off a reality bomb for all the damage they're doing to the universe," Four commented darkly, coming up beside his counterpart. Ten poked his head out from under the control panel with a look of relief.

"Oh good, it's you," he said. "This outbreak of violence is an indication that the beam we're transmitting via that satellite dish isn't half as strong as we need it to be. But I have an idea."

"Reconfiguration?"

"Precisely," Ten said, tossing the Time Lord a crooked spanner. "The way I see it, in order to crank up the power of our transmission, we'll have to reconfigure our two TARDISes into time cone inverters so we can better translate the encoded block transfer equations into a precise playlist program that will essentially create a safe-zone—"

"—by applying temporal inversion isometry to as much of space time as we can isolate!" Four finished, his round eyes bright with inspiration (1). "Brilliant! You know, I actually think that could work."

"Then you see to things on your end," Ten said, taking his spanner back so he could make an adjustment to his controls. "I'm nearly done here. All I need is for you to transmit your link-up code and we're set."

"Consider it done," Four said, and strode down the ramp.

Rose watched him go, then turned to Ten.

"Let me guess," she said, resting her chin on her palm. "You'll explain later, yeah?"

Ten looked over at her with a slightly pained expression.

"Rose…" he started.

"Nah, 's OK," she said, and smiled. "I think I actually got that bit about the playlist. Is this it here?"

She pointed to a pale green and white striped piece of paper hanging limply out of a slot on the TARDIS's control panel.

"Yep," the Doctor said, tightening screws and testing gears as he spoke.

Rose gently lifted the print-out without tearing it free.

"So, if I'm gettin' this then, this is the list of songs we have to get this world to sing if we're to set the universe to rights?"

"If the TARDIS translated the code right, then yes," Ten said. "Take that out to the Beatles. If this readjustment works, we should start to see the effects of those block transfer equations very soon."

"Right."

Rose nodded and carefully ripped the playlist free. Rolling it into a cylinder in her hand, she jogged down the ramp and out the doors into a scene of utter chaos.

"Rose!" Sarah Jane called, waving her over to where she, Harry, Frenk, Mary, Partly, and the Beatles were huddling inside the ruined ziggurat to avoid the flying bullets. "The fighting's gotten worse. Much worse. The factions have a missile launcher now, and Partly's certain he heard someone calling for a tank over the radio!"

"It's because the satellite transmission's not strong enough," Rose told them. "At least, that's what the Doctors said. They're workin' on reconfigurin' their TARDISes now, but they need the Beatles to sing what's on this playlist."

"And risk gettin' shot?" Paul exclaimed. "I'm not goin' back out there, whatever that Doctor says."

"Then sing in here," Rose said. "It's the words that count, an' the music."

"Yeah?" John countered. "Fat lot of good that did last time. I doubt they even heard us."

"Well, jus' try again," Rose urged. "Jus' once more, yeah?"

"It's not like we have anything more to lose, old man," Harry said. "After all, if all this block-transfer mumbo jumbo doesn't work, we've all pretty much bought it anyway."

The Beatles shared a long look, then slowly began to nod.

"One more song," John said, and shook his head. "We must be madder than a whole gaggle of hatters."

Harry smirked. "You're not far off," he said.

"Here," said Rose, handing John the rolled-up playlist. "Jus' start from the top and work your way down."

"What's the first song, Johnny?" George asked, slinging his guitar back over his shoulder.

John looked over the playlist, then handed it to Paul, who propped it against his open guitar case.

"'Think For Yourself,'" he said, and picked up his own guitar. "Everybody ready?"

Ringo readjusted one of his drums, then nodded. "Ready."

"Then in one, two, three, four…"

I've got a word or two  
To say about the things that you do  
You're telling all those lies  
About the good things that we can have  
If we close our eyes

Do what you want to do  
And go where you're going to  
Think for yourself  
'Cause I won't be there with you

I left you far behind  
The ruins of the life that you have in mind  
And though you still can't see  
I know your mind's made up  
You're gonna cause more misery

Do what you want to do  
And go where you're going to  
Think for yourself  
'Cause I won't be there with you

Although your mind's opaque  
Try thinking more if just for your own sake  
The future still looks good  
And you've got time to rectify  
All the things that you should… (2)

"Look," Sarah Jane gasped as the Beatles played on. "Harry, Rose—just look out there!"

"What is it old girl?" Harry started, only to drop his jaw when he caught sight of the scene outside.

It seemed a forest had grown up in the field where the factions were fighting. It was a forest of flowering vines, and each plant had entwined in its coils several very startled-looking soldiers. Every weapon, every tank, every missile launcher was fully engulfed by lush green vines and bright blooms as broad as dinner plates.

"Oh God… Did we…? Was it our song that did that?" George whispered hoarsely, coming up beside them now the song was finished.

"The equations encoded in the song," Ten said, startling them all as he and Four strode up to join them. "That's the power of this place. You think the right thoughts in the right order, and they become real."

"Impossible," Paul gaped.

"Improbable," John corrected.

"And now that we've captured the attention of our target audience," Four said dryly, his round eyes panning over the singular scene, "I think it's time to let them in on the facts of their world."

"Quite right," Ten agreed. "Frenk?"

He held out what looked like a small microphone.

Frenk looked startled for a moment, then quickly shook his head.

"Oh no," he said. "They won't listen to me, Doctor. This is the kind of news that has to come from an outside source. And that's…" he gestured to the alien group, "you."

Ten nodded and took in a deep breath.

"Right. Fair enough. Explanatory Speech, Part 412, coming right up. On the bright side though, if I do get through to them, this'll probably be the last time I have to go through this speech."

"We can only hope," Harry muttered to Sarah Jane. She nudged him, but didn't disagree.

For all his seeming reluctance, though, the Doctor gave a rousing speech. It was passionate and honest, and just technical enough to sound convincing without going too far over the top. He told the people of Liddypool Prime about Logopolis, and the great purpose it had been designed to achieve. He spoke of its fall and the chaos that followed, and he explained the true purpose of the ancient satellite dish that still extended from the ruins on Fool's Hill; the same satellite dish the Logopolitans had once used to open voids to draw in energy from alternate realities so they could keep their fragile universe alive. He told them of their ancestors, and how the abandoned planet had adjusted its program to suit their minds and beliefs, terraforming itself to fit their shared dream of a perfect world. He introduced the Beatles one by one, and explained how the Logopolitan program was still working through their songs, and through the minds of every man, woman, and child on Liddypool Prime. And as the people listened, their bonds began to weaken until, by the time the Beatles stepped forward to speak out in support of the Doctor's words, the vines had disappeared completely. For the first time in more than half a century, the people of Liddypool Prime stood unified in their belief. And they were ready to do what was necessary to put the Doctors' plan into action.

"Then sing!" Paul shouted to the cheering crowds, knowing his words were being transmitted around the world. "Sing out loud! Sing as loud as you can! George—what's next on the list?"

George glanced back over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the playlist, only to cry out in alarm.

"Lads, behind you!" he shouted. "It's them—they're back! The creature things!"

"Blimey, there's dozens of 'em," Ringo exclaimed. "An' it looks like they're gettin' ready to attack!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> (1) Quote paraphrased from Logopolis, by Christopher H. Bidmead, pg. 102-3.
> 
> (2) "Think For Yourself" by George Harrison, 1965, Track 5, Side 1 of Rubber Soul.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Three

The Nowhere Men creatures were phasing in from every direction, forming a shimmering, pulsating dome above the Beatles and their companions. The ten humans and two Time Lords bunched closer together, standing almost back to back as the creatures closed in.

John squared his uniformed shoulders and straightened his fuchsia band cap.

"This could be it, lads," he said. "The Beatles' Last Stand."

"An' not just for us," George said. "For the rest of the universe too."

"Aw, jus' because a few Beatle-hungry transdimensional monsters decide to crash the party doesn't mean it's game over," Ten said, gesturing for Four to toss him his blocky scanner. Once he caught it, he held it out so the others could see the little display box. "Not yet, anyway. See that pale green line under all those squiggly things?"

Sarah Jane squinted. "What is it?"

"Well, those squiggly things represent the creatures. And that line there is a super-sonic force field the Doctor and I set up when we locked in the link between our TARDISes. That pulse is vibrating at a frequency too high for us to hear, but it should keep those creatures at bay for at least another few minutes while they try to adapt."

"All right, then, so we've got a few minutes before those monsters break through and absorb us," Paul said sarcastically. "Good. That's…that's great."

"Isn't it, though. Especially in a place like this, where it only takes a second's thought to alter reality," Ten said, and called out to the crowds.

"You heard your Philosophers," he shouted, trying to focus their alarm into action. "It's up to you to help them now—to help them, and to help yourselves. You know the words, you only need the tune. When the music starts, we need you all to sing along. Sing out, as loudly and as strongly as you can. Sing Revolution!"

"Revolution?" Ringo repeated, confused. "But the next song on the list is—"

"No, this is different from the list," Rose said quickly. "You've gotta play Revolution. It worked before, when these creatures appeared in the tunnels."

"But, why—"

"No time for questions now," Sarah Jane said urgently. "Just trust me, it works. I saw it myself—those creatures are really compressed people. This song seems to…I don't know…revive them somehow."

"We're running short on time," Four warned, his eyes fixed warily on the pulsating creatures. "Either start singing now, or this truly will be the end."

"Well, when you put it like that…," said John wryly, hefting his guitar. "Revolution it is, lads. In one, two…

You say you want a revolution  
Well, you know,  
We all want to change the world.

You tell me that it's evolution  
Well, you know,  
We all want to change the world.

But when you talk about destruction,  
Don't you know that you can count me out…" (1)

It took a few moments for the confused, doubtful crowds to join in, but as one voice after another strengthened the song, they really did start to feel a change, a connection that filled them with power and a joy so strong, elation could not begin to describe the surge of energetic euphoria that swept through their newly linked minds. The music filled them, bubbled up through their hearts and minds and, instinctively, they knew what it was for. The planet's programming whispered to them through the song, washing away their doubts and focusing their power where it needed to go.

Gradually, the creatures stopped pulsing, slowly sinking until they brushed against the windblown grass that covered Fool's Hill. As the song went on, gathering in force and conviction, the creatures began to warp and twist, bend and quake, and finally, finally to change.

"Keep going!" Ten shouted, his dark eyes brightening as he watched the translucent creatures slowly shift from half-phased abstractions to ghostly figures that gradually grew solid and real and firm. "Alright!" he joined in the song. "Alright! Alright!"

"Alright!" the planet screamed as the song roared to an end. And just like that, there they stood, disoriented Nowhere Men and Women blinking in the light of the sun and the stars that shone through the Sea of Holes above.

"I recognize them," Sarah Jane exclaimed. "Most of those people; I saw them back at the Cavern! Rose, do you remember?"

"Yeah," Rose nodded, her eyes scanning the disoriented group for one face in particular. "Yeah—'cause there's Stu—"

"Sutcliffe!" John Lennon dropped his guitar and raced to his friend. "Stu, it's me! It's Johnny! Are you all right?"

Stu blinked at him in confusion.

"John? Where am I? What happened to your hair?"

John smiled and gave his friend a quick embrace. Calling to the others, he said, "Come here, lads! It's Stu! Oh, and Stu, this is Ringo. You might not know him, but he's the drummer we got after Pete."

While the introductions and reunions among the formerly compressed friends, strangers, girlfriends, boyfriends, husbands and wives continued, the crowds below burst into riotous cheers, still elated from their transcendent experience.

Four and Ten shared a high-five, their broad grins and shining eyes making them look more alike than Rose would have thought possible.

But there was one man among them who wasn't cheering. Frenk Fingletoad stared at his sister where she stood lost and blinking in the sun, as young and as pretty as the last day he'd seen her…the day she'd disappeared.

"K-Kakky…" he breathed, his voice trembling as he stepped slowly toward her like a man in a trance. "Kakky, I…I…"

But Kakky didn't seem to recognize him. She was turning in a slow circle, her expression wary and searching. Suddenly, her eyes widened and she flung herself at a cloaked figure standing to her right. As they went down, a beam of bluish energy shot from beneath the man's cloak.

Harry yelped and grabbed Paul by the shoulders, shoving the startled Beatle rather roughly against the side of the ziggurat. The beam shot just past Harry's ear to blow several of the ziggurat's bricks to dust.

"Whoa," Paul gasped, sounding shaken as he brushed the dust from his hair.

In a flash, the two Time Lords were at the scene, pulling the girl and the cloaked figure she was fighting to their feet.

Frenk ran up too, only to freeze in alarm when he realized he recognized the man in the cloak.

"Yew half two stop him!" Kakky was panting, her hair wild from the fight. "Hee ist trying too kilt thames—thee four off thames! The Grate Philosopher!"

"By the light," Frenk gasped. "It's the king! That man—that man is King Ann!"

"And look here," Ten said, holding up the device the man had tried to fire at the Beatles. "If it isn't a zygma device. Very primitive, too, I might add, not to mention highly illegal."

"Eye comment ewe gift tat back!" King Ann snapped, struggling in vain to free his arms from Four's grip.

"Yeah, well, you can 'comment' all you like," Ten snapped back, "But I think you'll find it won't mean much anymore. King Ann, under article 49776509 of the Shadow Proclamation, I hereby arrest you for unlawfully initiating a course of events leading to a potential end of reality as we know it, among multiple other violations."

"Yew watt?" the king exclaimed. "How dare ewe—!"

But the Doctor ignored the king's pathetic attempts at posturing. Instead, he called, "Harry, Partly, bind this man and make sure he doesn't slink away."

"Well…" Frenk said, his head reeling rather badly after seeing all that. "I suppose this means…the war is over. Really over. Now we know the king truly wasn't murdered by the Imaginists, but in fact tried to kill our Grate Philosopher…"

He ran his fingers through his hair, too overwhelmed for the full implications to sink in.

"But…but, Doctors," he said, looking up at the Time Lords, "what of the Imaginists and their theories? Is it true what they say, that the Four Lads continued writing separately after their supposed division?"

"It is true, Frenk," Four told him, and his words sent a ripple of gasps and comments spreading out among the crowds who, thanks to the TARDISes' reconfiguration and their own newly awakened mental link, could see, hear, and feel everything that happened on Fool's Hill as though they were there themselves.

Kakky frowned and stepped away from the Doctor.

"Frenk…?"

Frenk froze again as his sister came closer, seeming suddenly vulnerable.

"K-Kakky…I…"

The young girl tilted her head, her narrowed eyes taking in every detail of the normally imposing man, from his worn shoes to his graying hair.

"Frenk?" she asked again, her voice small and more than a little frightened. "Frenk, ist tat rally you? Butt…butt no—Frenk was juiced a boy! Mine shrimpy baby bruder!"

Frenk's lip trembled, and he lowered his head.

"Kakky, I'm so sorry," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I tried—I tried for so long, so many years to find out what happened to you. But I see I was too late. So much time has passed…our parents are gone. I…I've grown old. But you— You're still so young. You haven't changed at all!"

Kakky's eyes were filled with tears, but she sniffed and blinked them away. Slowly, tentatively, she reached out to touch her brother's silvering hair, rubbing the tips between her fingers.

"Yore knot so old," she said, and smiled. "You lock lake Unkle Ned."

Frenk looked startled, but then he laughed. Reaching out a hand, he pulled his sister into a tight embrace, resting his cheek on her warm, golden hair.

"Oh, Kakky," he sighed. "Losing you was worse than losing my best friend. There's been a hole in me for so long…and now…"

He pulled away and looked down into her eyes.

"Things are so different now. Me, this world. We've all wasted so much of our lives on this stupid war. Where can we go from here?"

Kakky shrugged. "Whelp, lick yew said, tea wart shoot bee over now."

She gave him a smile, then lowered her eyes.

"Aye saw you, inn tee tonnels," she said softly. "Tea impressions art hazy, butt… I colt feel more tan eye saw. Ant eye felt tat many peeple care aboot yew. Yew haft bean a grate leader to tem, fore many years. You haft beecomb a grate man. Eye don't cart how mooch thyme hast passed. Ewe art still mine favorite little bruder."

Frenk blinked against the sting of tears to smile at his sister. Kakky grinned back.

"Ewe axed where wee go from hier," she said, looking to the crowds as well as to him. "Aye say wee leaf it in tea hands off tea Grate Philosopher. Their musik gift me back my life. Preharps they canned gift us back hour world asp well."

"Oh, not just this world!" Ten grinned at her, gesturing the Beatles forward as if he were a director and the world of Liddypool Prime was his soundstage. Addressing the crowds, he shouted, "Come on, let's do this thing right. I promised you the concert of a lifetime! Now it's up to you lot to make it happen. You've seen what can happen when the people of this world put their minds together. I ask you now, will you do it again? Will you join your philosophers and help us repair our damaged reality?"

As they had before, the people of Liddypool Prime erupted in cheers, even louder and more riotous then when they'd freed the Nowhere Men.

Energized by their joy, the Beatles smiled and took up their instruments. As he slipped his guitar strap over his head, John called over to Stu.

"Room for one more," he offered.

But Stu just smiled and held up his hands.

"No thanks, Johnny," he said. "I'll join in singin' with the rest, but I'm no good on that thing and you know it."

John nodded his understanding, then turned back to his group.

"Ready lads?"

Paul nodded, checking to make sure his bass was still tuned.

George asked, "What's the next song, then?"

"Fixing A Hole," Ten told them, then called back to Partly, who was back in the ziggurat manning the controls. "All set?"

"Set, Doktor Ten!" Partly assured him.

Mary, standing at Partly's side, smiled and squeezed his hand.

"Then let's hit it!" Ten cried.

The music started and the crowds cheered and somewhere deep inside the planet's artificial core a new program began to take shape. As the concert continued, song after song, complex code was translated, mathematical formulas pulled from the music and formatted by the minds, hearts, and beliefs of the people who heard the tune and sang the words. As the last notes of the last song lingered in the air, in the heartbeat of silence before the cheers and screams and whistles, the final section of code clicked into place and the program was complete.

For the first time in centuries, the Skasis Paradigm was in operation on Logopolis…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference:
> 
> 1) "Revolution," written by John Lennon, first released as side B of the Beatles' Hey Jude single in 1968. Apple Records.


	26. Chapter Twenty-Four

The Doctor didn't know how it happened. One moment, he was on Fool's Hill, dancing with Rose and singing along with the music. His counterpart had linked arms with Kakky and Sarah Jane…he remembered their faces as they laughed and spun around like a trio of giddy school kids at a morris dancing festival. And then—

He was standing on a plane of white. It wasn't a room of white, with white painted walls or white tiled floors. It wasn't even solid: if he concentrated, he could see through it, to the crowds of people dancing and singing just beyond. They appeared to him like glowing embers through this haze of white, their movements causing ripples in the space around them. Probability waves, some analytical part of his mind told him, but he wasn't really interested. Something else had caught his attention.

The whiteness around him…it was moving. Vibrating in pulses, in waves, like a billion guitar strings all being plucked in time to the same beat. The haze was full of moving shapes, now frighteningly large, now infinitesimally small. The shapes were always changing, like buzzing, dancing fractals, subatomic particles, unsubstantial yet completely real. They zipped around and through him, faster than his eyes could catch, and the more he looked, the more he saw. Thousands of thick, rippling membranes stretching out to what seemed like infinity, stacked one upon another upon another like slices of toast on a plate; oddly twisted, curled up little shapes, and billions of other strange shapes and sounds he couldn't even identify. It was almost too much for his mind to process.

"Where the... Hello?" he called out into the buzzing, humming, pulsing whiteness. "Hello? Where am I? How did I get here! Oi!"

He ducked quickly as a particularly heavy looking squiggle of a thing whizzed by his head.

"And was that a sparticle I glimpsed just then? I thought it was impossible to spot a naturally occurring sparticle without-- Hello? Is someone there?"

A shape in the distance—a shadow, backlit but undeniably humanoid. The Doctor moved toward it, but the shadow raised a staying hand.

"Welcome, Doctor."

The voice was female. It was also strangely familiar. The Doctor squinted his eyes, struggling to place this woman and her words that were felt more than heard. Sung, more than said. Trying to recall her voice was like struggling to remember a haunting melody from a home and a childhood he'd thought were lost forever.

"Welcome," she sang again, "to the tenth dimension. Some might call it the realm of the gods. Here, the infinitely small and infinitely large meet, and discover they are one and the same."

The Doctor tilted his head.

"Is that what you are, then? Would you consider yourself a god?"

The woman's laugh was liquid beauty, rich and decadent. The Doctor's hearts nearly stopped. She stepped forward, her shadowy form solidifying through the haze until he could see every detail of her—and even then his eyes played tricks.

She stood tall and willowy, a statuesque feminine figure draped in robes of textured blue. The flowing fabric was cut in the style worn by ancient Gallifreyan nobility.

For a moment, the Doctor was sharply reminded of Romana, a regal brunette with wry, intelligent eyes, just as she'd looked when he'd first met her. But when he looked closer, he saw her hair was actually more similar to Sarah Jane's. Her almond eyes now seemed wide and innocent…like those of his granddaughter, Susan. And her smile—it was pure Jo Grant.

"It feels so good to laugh again," she sang. "To be this free…and to share it all with you. My Doctor."

"Who…" he tried, then started again. "Are you the one who brought me here?"

The woman shook her head. Her hair had now taken on auburn highlights, sharply reminding him of Liz Shaw. But when she looked up again, the shape of her face was Barbara's.

"You never finished, did you," she half laughed, half scolded. "With a mind like yours, you could have progressed to the highest rung of Gallifreyan academia. But you were impatient, and you left the Academy once you'd attained your doctorate."

"There's nothing shameful in that," the Doctor protested.

"No indeed," the woman agreed, her expression full of warm affection. "A doctorate from that acclaimed institution is an impressive achievement, and I've always been proud of you. But there are secrets…deep secrets you touched upon, but did not see. Secrets deeper than Logopolis, less clumsy than block transfer equations. Strange, intangible things...like the link between Time Lord and TARDIS, and the multi-dimensional science behind his regeneration."

The Doctor frowned. The woman gave him a searching stare through eyes that looked startlingly like Dr. Grace Holloway's…a woman he'd known in his eighth incarnation. After a long moment, she lowered her gaze.

"You truly don't recognize me, then?" She seemed disappointed.

"Recognize you? How can I recognize you? To me, you look like every woman I've ever known, every girl who's come aboard the TARDIS. Your face shifts from Peri to Mel to Ace to Nyssa." The Doctor straightened, striving to sound sympathetic, yet firm. "What are you trying to hide?"

"Hide?" she laughed. "No. Your perceptions are affected by your expectations. I have never hidden myself from you."

The Doctor pursed his lips, frustrated. The woman watched him for a moment, then shook her head.

"I've always felt your perceptions were rather too tightly locked in the third dimension," she said. "Even now, here, you retain your linear, three dimensional form, and force me to appear as a similar shape just so I can relate to you. Let go of the human mindset, Doctor. Look beyond space and time and understand where you are! Once your mind is open, you will know who I am…as you knew me once before."

The Doctor's frown deepened. "I don't understand."

She sighed. "So limited."

The Doctor stiffened, affronted, but before he could protest, the blue-clad goddess spread her arms wide.

"This is the arena of the mind," she sang. "The realm of probability that allows for the creation of infinite realities. All beginnings and all endings exist in this place. You've sensed it, Time Lord, but until now you've been chained by physicality. You've been watching three-dimensional ants snake obliviously through the fourth on their little Möbius strip, hopping through the fifth dimension to different points on the human timeline and thinking that's all there is to reality. But there is so much more."

"I know," he said. "I understand that. I've been to alternate realities, experienced alternate timelines—"

"Yet, you allowed your perceptions to remain limited merely to length, breadth, height, and duration. You know intellectually of the higher dimensions, but you do not stretch yourself enough to actually experience them. To view the universe—all the possible universes, as a great pulsing reality: a single point in which all of infinity is contained."

"The tenth dimension," the Doctor nodded. "Well, that's one way of describing it. A dimension is essentially a direction, after all, and for all we know there may be--"

"Doctor," she interrupted. "Call it what you will. But, this is my reality. My grand and lonely infinity of transdimensional space time. This is who I am. And a large part of who you are as well."

The Doctor squinted, still not comprehending. "Who are you?"

As if in answer, she took his hand and brought it to her chest. To feel the touch of a being that powerful, that imposingly beautiful…it actually made him feel flustered. More than flustered...mortified. But then he realized—

"Two hearts," he breathed.

"Yes," she smiled, a teasing smile that quirked up in a way that reminded him of Leela. "Two hearts. Mine and yours." Her smile deepened, melting into the glowing green of her eyes. "My Doctor."

"My TARDIS…"

Startled, he blinked and backed away, staring in wonder at the heart—no, the soul of his beloved ship. And, suddenly he realized, he'd been looking at her from entirely the wrong angle. She was right—he'd been viewing her from a three-dimensional perspective—in slices, sections, rather than as a whole. Looking at her now…she wasn't anything like the fractionated prism of faces and bodies he'd perceived. Her true form was far more lyrical. She was an image out of Gallifreyan folklore, an illustration that couldn't be painted by hand, but only with the aid of a living computer. She was an angel, a goddess…and she was laughing at him.

"Rassilon!" he exclaimed. "You could have told me!"

"And at last his mind can see!" she sang. "You do see me now, don't you, Doctor?"

"I..." The Doctor floundered, searching for the right words. "I don't think I ever imagined... And yet, somehow, I knew. I--I think I've always known."

"That this is what a TARDIS is," she sang. "What a Time Lord is. Why do you think your people gave up trying to change things and instead focused on defending the status quo? This power, this place, was too great for them. With its discovery, your people realized their own insignificance, the improbability of their own existence. It frightened them, and turned their ambitions inward. How will it affect you?"

But, the Doctor couldn't answer. For once, he was the one lagging two steps behind an explanation. He stared up and around himself, watching his own hands and clothing shift and change and morph from movement to movement to movement. For the first time he could see himself--his complete self--every incarnation merely an aspect of a greater whole.

"This is what you meant," he whispered, his mind full of wonder. "Those secrets… You're right…mathematics seems a clumsy way to describe all this. Even music couldn't do it justice."

"But you figured out how to combine the two," she smiled at him—her own smile now, no longer limited or locked in by what he expected to see or how he expected to see it. "You engaged the Skasis Paradigm and now, all of reality is reshaping itself according to the parameters of the program we designed. Can you see it, Doctor?" she sang, closing her glowing green eyes and spinning in time to the beat that pulsed and throbbed all around them. "Can you feel it? It's so different this time than last. Instead of fading away, it's coming back, Doctor. Life, love… Before, all I knew was fire and hurt. Today, I feel only joy. Real joy!"

The Doctor wasn't sure quite how to respond. While the TARDIS twirled and laughed, the Time Lord struggled to focus his newly awakening perceptions, to sort through an infinity of swirling universes and concentrate on finding just one. It wasn't a matter of looking with his eyes, but of feeling, listening…of seeking out a specific beat. He was searching for a song he'd heard before, in the darkest depths of his mind… The final song on the playlist.

…Lay down all thoughts, surrender to the void;  
It is shining,  
It is shining.

That you may see the meaning of within,  
It is believing,  
It is believing.

That love is all, that love is everyone;  
It is knowing,  
It is knowing,

That ignorance and hate may mourn the dead,  
It is believing,  
It is believing.

But listen to the color of your dream,  
It is not living,  
It is not living,

Or play the game "Existence" to the end  
Of the beginning,  
Of the beginning… (1)

And there it was…his own strange, static "seed" universe with its tender young "sprout"—the awkward product of his desperation to keep his fading reality alive. Seeing it from the outside...viewing it from this higher plane of reality... It should have been surreal, frightening. But, somehow, it wasn't. It was beautiful.

"It grows, Doctor," the TARDIS sang softly in his ear. "This time…the seed has sprouted with a new and greater vitality. All that life we thought destroyed, sacrificed for the sake of our continued reality…it has returned, Doctor. The Sontarans, the Gelth, the Zygons, the Klofsnwot, the Helia, even Trakken. They all exist again...and more."

"All feeding off the energy of our imploded star…our imploded planet," the Doctor said sadly. "The Eye of Harmony."

"Yes," the TARDIS sighed, taking his hand in hers and giving it a sympathetic squeeze. "Gallifrey is still lost to us. It had existed out of time, and it gave itself to make the rest of this new branching universe possible. Thanks to that sacrifice, the seed is restored, our home universe reborn. Everyone lives."

"And Sarah Jane? Harry? My counterpart—and yours as well? What happened to them?"

"All has been restored," she sang.

"The Beatles? Stu Sutcliffe, and all those people from the Cavern and the train station—"

"They too have been restored."

"And what about Liddypool Prime? Frenk and Kakky and Partly and all the rest? Now that 'all has been restored' will they retain the ability to keep the Logopolis computer up and running?"

The TARDIS smiled.

"They are the reason for all this joy," she told him. "When the Time War destroyed reality, we had only fragments and splinters left to work with. For that reason, the reality that sprouted was weak and delicate. The slightest temporal damage could prove fatal. But now…"

"Now that Logopolis is running again," the Doctor said, slowly starting to understand, "it's as if our universe's immune system has kicked back into gear. If temporal damage occurs, it'll be easier now for the universe to repair itself."

"Reason enough to celebrate," the TARDIS sang, her green eyes twinkling as she took his hands in hers. "Wouldn't you say?"

"More than enough." The Doctor grinned, pulling her close. Her giggle was musical, and soon the Doctor was laughing too.

"My Doctor," she sighed happily, leaning back in his arms until her long, dark hair brushed the white haze below their feet. All around them, vibrating superstrings pulsed in time to the heartbeat of infinity, shaping the music of life itself. The Doctor found it a heady feeling, intoxicating.

Straightening back up, the TARDIS hummed, "In all the time we've traveled together, in all the dreams we've shared…do you know you have never once asked me to dance?"

"I never knew we could," the Doctor said. "You've always been, well…a box."

She shook her head, amused, but a little subdued.

"Last time we were here, together, you and I were damaged almost beyond repair. I worried you would never heal. But now…"

She looked into his eyes, her beautiful features flushed and her green eyes wide and bright.

"You must know I love you," she whispered. "All of you, all the time. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you, nothing I wouldn't risk to keep you safe and whole and happy. Such is our bond, that I know you feel the same about me."

"Yeah…" the Doctor nodded, somewhat in a daze. "I'll admit we're a part of each other. Linked, even bonded, as you said. From the moment I first found you…an outdated capsule, marked for termination… I'd never in my life felt anything so strongly as that connection I felt with you." He chuckled. "When your Symbiotic Relationship Circuits sensed my symbiotic nuclei, I suppose you could say it was symbiosis at first sight. And without that link..."

"The Rassilon Imprimature," she hummed.

"The Rassilon Imprimature," he nodded, "none of this would have been possible. It's just like the lorebooks said. Our symbiotic bond allowed us to crack the Skasis Paradigm and access the Power of Creation (2). And now, together, we've regrown the universe....again. Brilliant!" He grinned.

"Then dance with me, Doctor!" she sang happily, slipping an arm around his waist. "Dance with me now, before the song is through and you go back to your dream…and forget the true reality."

"You really think I could forget this? Forget you?"

"I know you will. You did before. The Skasis Paradigm…it is too much power, even for me. Once the song is sung and your reality fully restored, I will wipe the codes from my memory as I did before. We'll both retreat back to the lower dimensions. And things will go back to the way they've always been. You searching. And me..."

"And you what?"

"Finding you a purpose." She winked. "Now, please… Enough talk. Dance with me, Doctor. Give me this moment."

Somewhere in the seventh dimension, the infant universe continued to sprout and grow, stretching out into a strong, pulsing membrane, while far above the TARDIS sang her joy as she and her Doctor danced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> 1) "Tomorrow Never Knows" Words and music by John Lennon and Paul McCartney, Northern Songs Ltd., 1996.
> 
> 2) See Chapter Two, Footnote 1 for details on Symbiotic Relationship Circuts, symbiotic nuclei, the Rassilon Imprimature, and the Power of Creation.
> 
> 3) This chapter was primarily inspired by the animation for the song "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" in the movie Yellow Submarine.
> 
> 4) This chapter was also loosely inspired by the The Elegant Universe by Brian Greene and the animated on-line video "Imagining the Tenth Dimension" by Rob Bryanton, which is based on the first chapter of his book by the same name.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Five: Epilogue

Rose Tyler woke with a start, strange, glowing, incomprehensible images bursting in her head like fireworks. She gasped and sat up straight.

She was in her room in the TARDIS. The comfortable hum of alien machinery was all around her, as were the jackets, skirts, and other paraphernalia that littered the floor and chairs.

Rose breathed out a long sigh and relaxed her back against the headboard. Just a dream, then. Probably a reaction to those strange silver-colored chips the Doctor had convinced her to try back on Alpha Leo.

Or was it? Even in her sleep-muddled state, Rose knew better than to dismiss something strange. She decided it would be best to mention her dream to the Doctor. If he laughed it off, then she would too. If he didn't, who knew? It could mean the start of some new adventure.

"What time is it?" she wondered to herself as she slid out of bed and dug her hairbrush out from the piles of stuff cluttering the top of her dresser: a swirled blue and green glass vase she'd picked up on one of the moons of Venezia Nuova; three metal emote-balls that leapt into the air as soon as she touched them, their agitated dance reflecting her mood; a fluffy plush aadnap doll the Doctor had won for her at the Winter Solstice Carnival on Nettad'Wompa II…and her watch, which read 8:17 a.m., London time.

8 a.m. The Doctor would probably be in the control room, tinkering with the TARDIS, as he often did while she was asleep.

Hair brushed, Rose pulled on her denim skirt, boots, and fleece jacket and headed off to find the Doctor.

The control room lights were dimmed when Rose got there. She paused by the door, waiting for her eyes to adjust, then poked her head in, wondering if the Doctor had fallen asleep on his chair or something. What she saw made her jaw drop in wonder.

The ceiling of the control room had seemingly opened up, revealing a seething, swirling pattern of glowing light and intermittent darkness. The Doctor stood below, his back to the door, as he stared up at the dizzying sight through his spectacles.

"Good morning, Rose," he said without turning around. "You can come in."

His voice was soft, but Rose didn't get the sense that it was out of awe or respect, as it often was when he looked out at the wonders of space. No, the Doctor seemed subdued somehow, even sad. His normally confident shoulders were stooped and he was leaning his palms against the central control console, his fingers stroking the warm metal with perhaps a touch more tenderness than usual.

"Doctor?" Rose prompted as she joined him, her curiosity tinged with a little bit of worry. "What's…um…?" She pointed upward.

"Hm? Oh, that." The Doctor turned a quick, tight lipped smile in her direction. "That's our universe, Rose. Splitting, branching, growing, changing, all as it should. The old girl did it. Entropy has been thwarted once again. And, once again, I'm left alone." He tapped his temple. "In here."

Rose furrowed her brow, not understanding. "Has somethin' happened, Doctor?"

"Yes. Oh, most definitely yes. And also no."

Rose hated that kind of double talk, and the Doctor knew it. He smiled at her again, a real smile this time, warm and affectionate.

"You won't remember," he said, taking her hand and looking it over as if it were a rare jewel. "I wish you could, but you won't now time and space have been reset. But, I met myself, Rose. My previous self. I felt him, up here in my mind. I felt his essence, his core, and it made me realize I'm not that man anymore. I'm just not. And it frightens me, Rose, to know that."

His smile faded, and he looked away.

"The man I met was merciful. Kind. His hearts just overflowed with effervescent optimism and curiosity. It made me feel…so empty to see that, so…" He sighed. "So very, very old."

Rose looked at him askance.

"You don't look old to me."

"Oh, Rose, can't you understand? It's not about appearance. I was middle aged then! And that was six regenerations ago. Six lifetimes. Rose, I am so old now, so unfathomably old. And I just don't know how much longer I can keep it up. This life. Traveling. Someone once told me, the universe sleeps soundly because the Doctor's there to put the monsters to bed. But how long can that last, Rose? If something breaks inside of me…if I lose the capacity for empathy, mercy…"

"But you won't," Rose assured him, more worried than ever now. "How could you? You're the best man – alien – whatever I've ever known! You are all those things you were sayin' – you're good an' merciful an' kind. Why are you even questionin' yourself?"

"Because I've seen my future, Rose," he said, his voice flat and cold. "I saw everything. It was only a flash, a glimpse before it all faded and the Skasis Paradigm was finally purged from the TARDIS's systems, but I felt it. That emptiness, that pain, that gnawing pain that turns mercy to revenge. Love into hatred. Compassion into coldness. Intelligence into arrogance. It was there, it was me, the Oncoming Storm…and there was no one, Rose, no one to call me out, to pull me back. I was alone, a parody of myself. A monster in my own skin. And that woman...that astronaut...she saw it...she knew..." (1).

Rose frowned, a little frightened herself. The Time Lord's eyes had grown so dark, his pinched mouth and the dim lighting bringing out all the fine lines on his deceptively youthful face. For that moment, he looked like what he was: an ancient, powerful being, teetering on a knife's edge between isolation and hope.

"Well," Rose asserted, her own stubborn optimism stepping in to shake off the disturbing image as if it'd never been, "it doesn't have to be that way. Isn't that what you're always tellin' me? How time's in flux an' that? We all make choices, Doctor. Some are good, some are bad. An' my choice is to stay with you. So, as long as we're a team, you're safe. See?" She pointed down at their reflection in control panel's monitor screen, the two of them side by side, holding hands. "No monsters in the mirror, yeah? Jus' you an' me."

"The Doctor and Rose Tyler," he said quietly.

"The dynamic duo," she quipped. "Riskin' life an' limb to save the universe from moonlight werewolves."

"And Cybermen," the Doctor added, deciding to play along.

"And Daleks."

"And Slitheen."

"And silver-colored chips that taste of tinny lemon," she teased.

"Oh, Rose."

The Doctor swallowed hard and pulled her into a fierce embrace.

"Don't leave me. Promise me you'll never leave me on my own."

"Never ever," she whispered into his ear. "You're my Doctor. I'll always be here to keep you safe. Even if it's from yourself."

The Doctor held her closer, his narrow chin digging into her shoulder as he breathed her in.

"I'm sorry, Rose," he said at last, pulling away with a sigh. "I'm so sorry."

"Oh, come off it, old man," she said, her teasing tongue poking out from between her teeth. "You've nothin' to be sorry for."

"I shouldn't have broken down like that. I should never have made you promise—"

Rose rolled her eyes. "Will you stop? I'm fine, you're fine, we're fine, an' the future's a big wavery fluxey ball of unknown, jus' waitin' to be shaped. So, what'd'ya say? Wanna set the TARDIS to pick a place at random? Or are your hearts too old and shriveled up for surprises?"

The Doctor opened his mouth in mock offense.

"You what? Are you sayin' I'm old? What's nine hundred plus years to a Time Lord, hm? I've still got some regenerations stowed away."

"Maybe you do," Rose teased, raising her eyebrow in challenge. "But does this new old you still have the moves?"

"Well…" The Doctor pretended to hesitate, scratching at his ear before breaking out with truly impish smile. "This light does make the room look rather like a disco. Wha'd'ya say, Rose Tyler? Would you like a dance?"

"Mmm." Rose smiled, stepping up beside him.

"An' I think I've got jus' the song programmed in. A switch here, a button there," he murmured, "and voila!" He spun around with a grin, the music starting up behind him. It was a song Rose didn't recognize, but it had a good beat and her toes were already starting to tap.

"Now, Rose Tyler, we'll see who's got the moves. Perhaps I failed to mention I was once awarded top prize at Silmar III's annual dance-off? As a walk-on contestant, nonetheless!" He laughed at the memory. "Fantastic planet, Silmar III. Every day's a party!"

"That's as may be," Rose retorted playfully, sauntering up to take his hands. "But I'll bet a box of chips your 'dance-off' couldn't hold a candle to some of the clubs I've been in. Real chips, mind, not those silvery things we had last night."

"Oh-hoo," the Doctor crowed, "Is that a challenge I hear?"

Rose took a step closer, her tongue pressed against her teeth in a teasing smile. "If that's what it sounds like…"

"Now you're askin' for it," the Doctor said. "You are asking for it. You want dancing, Rose Tyler? I'll show you dancing. Come on!"

"Where are we going?" Rose asked eagerly, allowing the Doctor to pull her up to his side as he once again set about manipulating the TARDIS controls.

"Silmar III!" he exclaimed. "I could do with another win."

"Don't you mean we?" Rose teased.

"Nope!" The Doctor grinned. "It'll be you against me against the whole Silmar populace. Whichever of us comes in second buys the chips."

"Right." Rose nodded approvingly. "I'll take 'em with extra salt, thanks. An' made of real, Earth potatoes."

The Doctor laughed.

"What's that human saying about counting chickens?" he warned jokingly, reaching far over the console to snatch up his sonic screwdriver. "Have to make one last calibration…"

A shuddering rumble rolled through the TARDIS, causing Rose to gasp. But the Doctor just grinned his manic grin, the melancholy of moments ago totally forgotten.

"Had to change direction. Here we go!"

He grabbed her hand and spun her around to the music, her laughter a sweet addition to the melody:

"Yeah, reel me in, my precious girl,  
Come on, take me home.  
'Cause my body's tired of traveling  
And my heart don't wish to roam.  
No, no.

Well, you took me in, you stole my heart,  
I cannot roam no more.  
Because love, it stays within you,  
It does not wash up on a shore.  
But a fighting man forgets each cut  
Each knock, each bruise, each fall,  
But a fighting man cannot forget  
Why his love don't roam no more.

Oh, reel me in, my precious girl,  
Come on, take me home.  
'Cause my body's tired of traveling  
And my heart don't wish to roam.

Yeah, reel me in, my precious girl,  
Come on, take me home.  
'Cause my body's tired of traveling  
And my heart don't wish to roam.

Yeah, walk with me, my love, my love,  
Walk tall, walk proud, walk far,  
For you know my love, you are, you are,  
You are my shining star.

Walk with me, oh my love,  
Walk tall, walk proud, walk far.  
For you know my love, you are, you are,  
You are my shining star, you are, you are.  
Yeah!

Reel me in, my precious girl,  
Come on, take me home.  
My body's tired of traveling  
And my heart don't wish to roam." (2)

Beyond the warmth and laughter of the control room, beyond both space and time, the TARDIS hurtled through the Vortex, scanners on the alert for any unusual bumps or peculiar eddies that could spell trouble in the shifting time currents ahead. It wasn't long before she found one – a whirl that registered bright blue on the alert scale.

Blue alert – probable corruptive influence on planet below; observation and, if necessary, containment were indicated.

The TARDIS knew her course and destination had been set, but she was also aware that nothing was truly fixed beyond the fourth dimension. That strange whirl ahead bore looking into. The Doctor's trip to Silmar III would have to wait. A Time Lord had responsibilities, after all, and some dances just weren't meant to be.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> (1) Reference to the Doctor Who special "The Waters of Mars."
> 
> (2) Murray Gold, "Love Don't Roam," in Doctor Who: Original Television Soundtrack, 2006.


End file.
